


Tell Me You Love Me (Or Tell Me a Lie)

by almaasi



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Affectionate Garak, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Finds Out, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Holding Hands, Illustrated, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Shri-tal, everyone knows, not actually dying, set at some vague point mid season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 12:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21276857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Insisting that he’s dying (but not actually dying), Garak begins telling Bashir all his closest secrets. But what Garak calls ‘secrets’ are really observations – all the rules he lives by have been broken for Bashir. Even more interesting: these little stories about the two of them are starting to sound like love confessions. Oh, it’s going to be very awkward when Garak survives.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 117
Kudos: 378





	1. Shri-tal

**Author's Note:**

> *arrives a quarter of a century late to this fandom with Space Starbucks*  
hey what’s up
> 
> This fic contains spoilers for 5x16 "Doctor Bashir, I Presume".
> 
> Beta'd by [Libby](https://cersei-the-truth-bombardier.tumblr.com/) and [Anupalya](https://anupalya.tumblr.com/)!

  


“Dying?!” Julian nearly snapped the stem of his champagne flute. “Don’t be ridiculous, Garak, you’re not _dying_.”

He stared for a moment longer at Garak’s careless expression and the way his eyes roamed the ballroom, a faint smile on his grey lips... and Julian’s own lips parted, asking, worriedly, “Are you? Nooohh, you’re not. Wait, are you?”

“That _is_ what I said,” Garak said flatly, eyeridges rising as he lifted his glass in a toast to the doctor, then drank a sip. He hummed in distaste, looking at the replicated champagne. “You know, when you invited me to a lavish ball in the holosuites I thought perhaps there’d be something better to drink.”

Julian breathed a few times, unable to take his eyes off his Cardassian friend. “You’re not dying. I’m a doctor, I’d _know_ if you were dying. You can’t be... dying. It’s not possible. It’s not— It’s not _fair_!”

“In the holosuites, maybe not,” Garak agreed, a sly twinkle in his eyes. He set down his drink and stood up, straightening his tuxedo. “That would be a terrible way to go. Join me and we’ll go somewhere quieter.”

Julian huffed, and piped up, “Computer! Freeze program and empty the ballroom of other characters.”

The ballroom hissed and fell silent, the jazz band and all the instruments gone, the women in slinky dresses gone, all deadly enemies gone with them. Marble floors were all that surrounded their lone table, bathed in gold light all the way to the grand curtained windows, showing a starbright view of San Francisco, 1963.

“There,” Julian said, giving Garak a hard stare. “Quiet. Now sit _down_ and tell me what’s going on.”

Garak smiled and sat. “What is there to tell? My current life is coming to an end and I thought you deserved to know first.”

Julian shook his head. “But surely you’re not even _close_ to being old for a Cardassian. As far as I know you’re not wounded, or sick. You’re not _talking_ as if you’ve been poisoned—” He sniffed the champagne just to check, then looked at Garak in perplexed dismay.

“Perhaps,” Garak said lightly, “what’s killing me is far more insipid that any of that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a toxified fragment of my cranial implant, let’s suppose, left behind.”

“That’s not possible, I removed—”

“Or the echo of a near-death childhood experience come back to haunt me.”

“But—

“Or, just for fun, let’s say it’s just something that preys upon Cardassians of a certain lineage. An untraceable, un_question_ably lethal virus.”

“Oh, bollocks, Garak,” Julian scowled. “Whatever this is, we can fix it, I’m sure of it. Maybe you _are_... ‘dying’, but I won’t hear a word of it. I’m not letting it happen.”

Garak’s head tilted just a bit, a fond smile crinkling beside his eyes. “My dear doctor, I should have known you wouldn’t let me go in peace. Not a fan of losing your friends, are you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Julian said, ruffled. “Now—” He stood up, took Garak by the upper arm, and dragged him from his seat, “if you won’t tell me what’s _really_ killing you, I’ll just have to find out myself. Computer, exit.”

The holosuite doors swept open with a drone in the middle of the ballroom, and Julian headed for them, hand curled around Garak’s bicep, which he noted, for perhaps the fifteenth time in his life, was firmer than expected.

Garak strode along beside Julian, looking amused as they left the upper level of Quark’s and descended the spiral staircase towards pulsing red lights and the bar’s peak-time crowd. Julian had to let go of Garak on the stairs, but still felt his presence, that reptilian desert-sand scent still lingering on his skin and clothes and in his nose. Soon the scent was replaced by the tang of synthale and the sweetness of Samarian sunsets, wafting over from the party at the bar.

“Leaving so soon, you two?” Quark noticed them on their way out. “You still have the holosuites reserved for another twenty minutes.”

“Cutting it short tonight, Quark,” Julian said with an upright tone, but a bothered frown.

Quark’s grin almost reached from ear to giant ear. “No refunds!”

“Of course not,” Julian muttered, reaching Morn’s usual seat, then turning back and taking Garak by his tuxedo sleeve and pulling him the rest of the way. They left the bar and reached the Promenade, which was barely any less crowded. A Bolian ship must’ve docked; Julian saw far more bald, blue heads than he usually did.

Julian regretted leaving the holosuite now, where he could wish away the background noise and summon privacy. But on they went, around traders and travellers and throngs of alien races from the two converging quadrants.

Garak saw they were approaching the doors to the Infirmary, and stiffened up. Julian tried to drag him, but Garak snatched away his arm, and they stopped in the middle of the crowd, facing each other, Julian furious, Garak stubborn.

“_Ab_solutely not, doctor,” Garak said.

“You do realise how this whole ‘Chief Medical Officer’ thing works, don’t you?” Julian said impatiently. “I scan you, I tell you what’s wrong with you, and then I _fix_ it.”

“I think not,” Garak said, stepping past Julian. “And besides, you know as well as I do that you won’t find anything wrong.”

“That’s besides the point!” Julian rushed after Garak, who was heading for the turbolifts. “Garak, why tell me you’re—” he refused to say the word where someone might overhear, “having _trouble_, if you don’t want me to help?”

“Ah, that is the question, isn’t it,” Garak murmured airily, waiting for the lift. He smiled as it arrived, and gave Julian a sparkly-eyed glance before stepping in. Julian went after him, glaring as the doors closed and Garak requested passage to the Habitat Ring. The turbolift hummed as it whizzed along.

“I’d like to begin the process of Shri-tal as soon as possible,” Garak said, not looking at Julian. “So let’s not waste any time.”

“Shri—” Julian’s eyes bugged. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Garak began to undo his cufflinks. He used to get annoyed with them, but after so many evenings spent in Julian’s Bond-inspired holosuite programs, not any more.

“Shri-tal,” Julian repeated, looking softly at the base of the turbolift doors, eyes unfocusing.

“Yes, you must be familiar with the concept,” Garak said. “A Cardassian, when on his deathbed, shares all his greatest secrets with a family member before those secrets are lost forever.”

“Yes, I _know_ what _Shri-tal_ is,” Julian snapped. “But what I don’t understand is why—”

“Why you?” Garak looked at Julian as the doors opened and the cool air of the Habitat Ring washed against them. “Because, my dear doctor.” He left the turbolift and headed for his quarters, Julian by his side. “No doubt it’s of little surprise for you to hear you are the last remaining soul in existence who I can count as family.”

If Julian had heard those words under any other circumstance, he would’ve been so flattered he might’ve teared up. But right now all he could do was grit his jaw and storm after his friend, who walked fast when he wasn’t pretending to be a plain and simple tailor in front of people who didn’t know he was all that and more.

Garak opened his doors with a push to the sensor, then bowed slightly to Julian, gesturing him inside. Julian entered the dim room and immediately shed his tuxedo jacket and began undoing his bowtie, as Garak’s quarters were oppressively hot and dry.

Garak went to the replicator and said, “Two glasses of kanar.”

The replicator whirred, and two square glasses of azure liquid appeared on the glowing white tiles. As Julian sank onto one of Garak’s bulging grey leather-like chairs, he accepted the drink and downed it in one shot.

“Ah,” Garak said, observing. He handed Julian his own drink, then went and got himself another, returning the empty glass. “One of those nights, it is.”

Julian nursed his second drink, eyes set on the carpet.

Garak undressed to his white dress shirt, folded the jacket properly, and lay it over one thigh as he sat at the side of his blanketless bed. He gazed at Julian for a while, in that impassive, dull-eyed way of his, which let Julian know Garak was rapidly calculating his next move based on Julian’s slumped shoulders and forward lean.

“I suppose I should be gratified,” Garak said quietly, “that you seem so upset.”

“Upset?” Julian looked at him. “Of course I’m _upset_. Did you really think I wouldn’t be?”

Garak took in a breath, blue eyes rising to one side. “Wehhll, I wouldn’t say that. If anything, your emotional response to the thought of losing me makes me more sure I’ve made the right choice.”

“Choice? What choice?”

“Of selecting you as the sole recipient of my deepest, darkest, and most damaging secrets,” Garak said. “You _have_ been quite desperate to discover them all these past years, and it seems your time has finally come.” He sipped his drink. “Now,” he sat up straighter, untangling his bowtie until it fell apart, “let’s begin.”

“Now?” Julian stared. “Right now. Here. This instant.”

“Unless you have someplace you’d rather be than at the deathbed of your ailing companion.”

Julian tried not to pout. But he lowered his face and stared into his drink, and sighed. “You know I’m not going anywhere, Elim.”

“Precisely.” Garak drew in a happy breath. “No sense in being coy, is there; we’ll get right to it. Of all I am about to tell you, Dr. Julian Bashir, every word is the unmitigated truth.”

Julian was dumbfounded. Not because Garak, a liar, would claim such a thing, but because Julian actually believed him.

“I shall start with my biggest secret of all...”


	2. Sentiment Is the Greatest Weakness of All

_“Chick... lit,” Garak repeated, moving his mouth around uncommon words that the Universal Translator refused to give context to. “Stories about infant birds?”_

_Bashir laughed so delightfully, eyes lit up like the sun-drenched meadows of greatest Cardassia, but tempered with sweetness that Cardassia had never known. “No birds,” Bashir said, offering the ruby-red data rod across the bar’s shadiest table, holding on until Garak took it. “Unless you count women as birds. It’s...” his eyes wandered, head bobbing, “softer. This one isn’t actually chick lit, but it was written by a woman.”_

_“I dare say your tastes are starting to disappoint me, doctor,” Garak said, pocketing the data rod before he was tempted to stir his drink with it out of pure contempt. “I thought we were fine when you suggested a story about a Human war, only to realise we’d slipped quite firmly into dangerous territory as the story revolved almost entirely around some beast you call a _horse_.”_

_Bashir’s eyes kept on sparkling as he held his Tarkalian tea in cupped palms. “Dangerous territory, you say.”_

_“We are what we read, as we are the stories we tell, are we not? We read to keep our minds sharp, to learn, to better ourselves, to discover secrets, to—”_

_“To escape, to pass the time, to be thrilled! To cry, to _laugh_! To fall in love!”_

_Garak gave Bashir a long, stern look. “Sometimes, doctor, I do wonder what I see in you.”_

_“Boyish charm, buckets of wit, and oodles of personality. And damn good hair.” Bashir leaned forward, putting his tea down. “Look. Kira made a very good point when she—”_

_“Ahh, Major Kira,” Garak said dismissively. “Sticking her stripy nose in matters that do not pertain to her, as per usual.”_

_“She very kindly _mentioned_ we were sharing the exact sort of thing she’d expected us to share. Two men. A Cardassian soldier and a Human doctor. Sitting here, talking about battles and empires and other men doing important man things. You say we’re here to learn, so...? Let’s learn.” He reached over and pressed the pocket where Garak had put the data rod, which happened to be right over his heart. “There’s more to Human fiction than Hobbits and consulting detectives, Garak.”_

_“But hardly anything worth reading.”_

_“You haven’t even read what I gave you!”_

_“You’ve already told me it has a Human woman’s soft touch, doctor, I doubt reading it would change my mind.”_

_“Oh, look who’s talking,” Bashir uttered. “Did I ever tell you that in certain parts of Earth history, hemming people’s trousers was the sort of thing women did more often than not? If anything, Garak, you’d relate to the lead character. She’s a dressmaker. That’s why I chose it. Anyway, Agatha Christie’s sold more books on Earth than anyone. Well, besides Shakespeare. And whoever it is that sells Bibles. Christie wrote mystery stories. And of all people, I thought you’d _appreciate_ a good mystery.”_

_Garak had started to smile, and didn’t stop._

_Bashir started to fret. “What?” he asked, unsettled. “Why aren’t you arguing with me?”_

_“Oh, nothing, my dear doctor. I just considered that perhaps you’re right.”_

_“I am?”_

_“Yes. Perfectly. When it comes to bending society’s rules, I am both a student and a master. It may be of some assist to expand my palate somewhat.” He sipped his Rokassa juice, eyes never leaving Bashir’s. “In fact, one might say that I’m no stranger to exploring the feminine realm.”_

_“Yes, I did wonder,” Bashir murmured._

_Garak tingled. “I’m sorry?”_

_“Ah—? Oh.” Bashir shrugged. “At the Dominion internment camp, when you saved us all. You know an awful lot about electrical engineering for someone whose culture calls engineering fields a ‘feminine’ profession.”_

_“Do I, indeed,” Garak purred._

_Bashir let the following lull in the conversation get to him, and he flustered, looking around, down towards the Dabo tables, scratching the back of his neck, then gazing at Garak for only a second before lowering his gaze, smiling._

_Garak kept on beaming back, feeling more and more fond of Julian Bashir with every passing second._

✨

“Ex_cuse_ me,” Julian interrupted, one finger raised.

Garak paused, mouth open. “Yes?”

Julian smacked his bitter tongue to his palate, tasting the kanar and trying to find words past the fuzz of tipsiness. “Isn’t Shri-tal about... sharing _political_ secrets? Who’s planning whose assassination, which dictator is living in whose pocket, and so and and so forth, et cetera. No? Something Starfleet can use as democratic ammunition. Even if you’ll never admit it, you’re a _spy_; don’t you have classified spy stories to share?”

“Come now, doctor, don’t tell me you’re disappointed.”

“I can’t _be_ disappointed yet, you haven’t told me anything,” Julian exclaimed, gesturing wide with his sloshing glass. He controlled his hands and sipped ponderously at his drink. “You’re only reminding me about a meeting we had barely a year ago. I _was_ there, Garak, and I’m not some forgetful sod. I could tell you the stardate if you wanted.”

Garak hummed, thumbing his own drink, gaze stuck on Julian. “You would have no use for Cardassian secrets, doctor. I’ve been exiled to Deep Space Nine for so long all those mysteries are well outdated by now. And I will say this, besides: everything you want so badly to know about me, you already know. Compared to the personal interest my secrets likely hold for you, military or political secrets would seem ever so feeble.”

Julian frowned. “So what in the quadrant _are_ you telling me, then? And what’s so important about it that you have to tell _me_?”

“If you would but turn your ear and _listen_, doctor, there is a chance you’ll hear the answer you seek.”

Julian exhaled slowly, sinking closer to his kanar.

✨

_Once they were out of the bustle and blare of Quark’s bar, Garak offered his crooked arm, and Bashir took it gratefully, a pleased flush on the peaks of his gloriously brown skin._

_They walked arm-in-arm down the Promenade, and their enjoined figures cut the crowds around them like a spoon pulled through yamok sauce. And for a moment, a blissful moment, Garak didn’t mind so much that the Bajorans’ glares burned him and beat him without a touch. For the first time in a long time, he felt unbruised._

_They made it to the turbolift, and remained arm-in-arm as it travelled._

_Silent, they paced down the dark, curved corridors, heading for Bashir’s quarters. Bashir kept pace with Garak, who walked slowly to savour their time together. From his plain expression, Bashir didn’t seem to think anything of this gesture, their closeness, their bond. This was so easy for him, wasn’t it? Making friends with the space station’s most loathed enemy? He was probably thinking about the books Garak had recommended him._

_Perhaps, for that, Garak was glad. Bashir’s absence of hesitancy made this a hundred times less mortifying than it could have been._

✨

“Look, is this going somewhere?” Julian demanded, waving his empty glass, then putting it on the floor.

“We went to your quarters,” Garak said simply.

“Yes, but—”

“And we said goodnight.” Garak wore an unusually soft smile.

“_Yes_,” Julian said again, “but then what?”

“Then I returned to my own quarters to retire for the night. As I recall, you had a busy day upcoming and I didn’t want to keep you.”

“All my days are busy,” Julian said, squinting as he leaned towards Garak, elbows on his knees. “Garak, how is this a secret? I was literally _there_ with you. We did the same the following week. Lunches, dinners, holosuites, clandestine missions – I’ve seen you thousands of times! We’ve walked back to our quarters once every second evening, in recent times. There’s no secret to that.”

“You have just stated the very point I’m trying to make, doctor.”

Julian shook his head, hands open and grasping nothing.

“I do believe sentiment is the greatest weakness of all,” Garak said, head down, speaking too softly to be making a joke or starting a fight. “And I suspect that particular secret is my worst-kept. But,” he set aside his drink and stood up, “you already knew it, doctor. All too well, as it turns out.”

Julian stared. Garak had gone to the doors and opened them to the hallway, patiently standing by like he expected Julian to leave.

Slowly, Julian got to his feet. He took his jacket over his shoulder, fingers crooked in the collar. He stepped up to Garak, a breath away, gazing at him.

“Goodnight, again, my dear friend,” Garak said, touching Julian’s elbow. His hand was beautifully hot through the shirt material. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow and sharing another secret.”

Julian tried to ask questions, tried to argue, but Garak made polite but pointed noises and somehow finagled Julian into the hallway and said goodnight and closed the door between them before Julian could get a proper word out.

He stood there in dusky shadows for a while, confused and blurry-headed.

What was the point of revealing a secret Julian already knew? He pondered the question as he trudged towards his own quarters. More pertinently, what _was_ the secret? That Garak cared about him? That was nothing new.

Julian drew in an open-mouthed breath, eyes rising. But of course!

He smiled sadly, and kept walking. _Of course._

Sentiment was Garak’s greatest enemy, yet he’d come to care about Julian deeply. That fact was obvious to Julian, hence his frustration with being fed old information. It was no secret, but it was meant to be.

Elim Garak cared for Julian Bashir.

With a tug of emotion in his chest, Julian supposed that if Garak really were to vacate this mortal plane so long before his time, it was good just to have the obvious confirmed from Garak’s own lips, even if he’d never said the exact words.


	3. Never Tell the Truth When a Lie Will Do

“Computer...” Julian blinked hard, rubbing his forehead. Making up his mind, he murmured, “Open doors to chamber nine-oh-one, Habitat level haitch-three. Emergency medical override Bashir one-alpha.”

The doors to Garak’s quarters whispered open, and Julian stepped in, medical kit in hand. He padded silently to Garak’s bed in the dark, finding his way easily by a faint red glow from one of the wall decorations left of the window.

Tricorder warbling and flashing in his hand, Julian began his medical scan of Garak’s sleeping form, wafting the instrument up and down Garak’s torso a few times, frowning as he adjusted to acquire various tissue and muscular and cellular readings.

Garak slept on, breathing soundly. He seemed to have a small smile on his lips, which Julian, mid-brain-scan, thought was... hmm, cute.

He scanned Garak from head to toe, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He was just adjusting the tricorder to look for chroniton radiation when Garak said, with a fully-awake voice, “I thought I sent you home, doctor.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “And I thought _you_ were asleep.”

“How could I sleep with that bleeping racket carrying on,” Garak said flatly, revealing what Julian had quietly suspected: he’d been awake all along. “Find anything useful?”

“Not at all,” Julian said with a sigh, sitting heavily on the side of Garak’s bed, still scanning his neck. “But I suppose it rules out one possibility: you’re not dying of anything medical. You’re in the peak of health.”

“Sound more irritated about that, why don’t you.”

Julian flipped the tricorder closed. “Garak, whoever told you you’re dying, I’m certain they were wrong. I don’t think you _are_ dying.”

“My dear doctor. Perhaps I’ll believe that in a week when I’m still alive.”

“A week?! What the hell is so deadly that it’ll wipe you out in a week but shows nothing on the scanner now?”

“Not all deaths are caused by injury or sickness, doctor.”

Julian’s skin chilled and he put down the scanner. “You mean someone’s going to kill you.”

“Did I say that?”

Julian moved to sit properly on the bed, legs out, back to the headboard, arms folded. “Sounded like it.”

Garak shifted in the bed beside Julian’s thighs, his heat pressing and pulling back. “Doctor,” he said, “what are you doing?”

“I’m keeping watch,” Julian said firmly. “If anyone wants to kill you they’ll have to go through me first.”

He heard Garak smile. “How very pragmatic of you. And, dare I say, an utter waste of your time.”

Julian scoffed. “I’m not about to lose you, Garak. You can be as enigmatic and purposefully misleading as you please, and I shan’t believe a word of what you say – but on the off-chance that someone _is_ out to get you, I’m here.” He huffed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you _are_ at the top of someone’s hit list.”

“All my years spent spying, no doubt?”

“Oh, not at all,” Julian smiled. “You’re just an absolute ass.”

He smiled, because Garak chuckled.

The room fell silent for a bit, and Julian felt Garak get comfortable in bed again, close enough to Julian’s right leg that he felt waves of heat rolling from the tailor’s stocky body.

“It’s funny,” Julian said, “but I’ve never quite worked out if you’re hot- or cold-blooded. Are you a mammal or a reptile? You bask in the heat but you’re hotter than the room, and you certainly seem reptilian in many respects, but without an exoskeleton you’re—”

“Doctor, did you come here to discuss the mysteries of Cardassian physiology or are you going to let me sleep? If you’re going to talk all night I’d frankly rather get assassinated.”

Julian kicked Garak gently, making Garak grunt in amusement.

After a minute, Julian toed off his shoes and let them tumble to the carpet, then unzipped his Starfleet jacket and worked it off, leaning back again, sleeves rolled up on his undershirt.

Soon after, he scratched his nose – and Garak snapped, “You really do wriggle, don’t you?”

“Sorry! My nose was itchy.”

Garak sighed loudly, and rolled onto his back. “Well, I’m quite awake now. If an assailant did make an attempt on my life I would be more than prepared to fight back.”

“Garak, you’re not getting rid of me.”

“I thought not.”

Julian pressed his thigh to Garak’s arm, and of course there was no blanket between them, so he felt Garak’s knuckles push just above his knee. “Talk to me, Garak,” Julian pleaded. “What’s really going on?”

Garak let out a slow breath. “Since we’re here, I suspect there’s no harm...” He rolled over, facing Julian’s legs. In the dim light, Julian could see his eyes were closed and his hands were tucked under his ridged jaw. “I’ll tell you another of my secrets.”

Julian’s heart leapt, but then sank. It was hard to be excited about having a thirst quenched when the reason for being handed a drink was poison, so to speak. It hurt to think about losing his friend.

“Do you remember,” Garak began, breath warm below Julian’s hip, “the night you switched off my cranial implant?”

“I’ll never forget it,” Julian replied.

Garak hummed. “I was going mad with withdrawal... I... attacked you. I hurt you, I— I threw you down—”

“Garak, I remember,” Julian said, hand falling to touch Garak’s hair, warm under his palm, sleek between his fingertips. He lifted his hand away again, flushed with hot-cold chills. “You didn’t have to remind me.”

“Just establishing our timeline,” Garak said, with no reaction to the touch. “Doctor, please believe me, I felt quite... terrible. Ashamed. Afraid.”

“I know,” Julian whispered. “Garak, I know. You never wanted to hurt me, no more than I wanted to hurt you.”

“I asked for your forgiveness.”

Julian’s eyes lowered, holding his own hand. “Forgiveness for... all the bad things you’d done, not just attacking me. I know. You didn’t need to say you were sorry, I understood. I still understand. And I... I still forgive you.”

Garak swallowed. He tried to hide the tension in his throat but did a bad job, and it was audible as he said, “You held... my hand...”

Julian felt knuckles trailing up the side of his thigh hopefully, so he slid his own hand down, taking Garak’s. Garak accepted the touch. Heat shot up Julian’s spine, ice descended from his scalp to his shoulders, and his breath shuddered, fingers latching around the Cardassian’s burning palm, Garak’s fingers curling over Julian’s.

“And,” Garak said, slowly, picking each word carefully, “I couldn’t believe it. I was thinking to myself, I couldn’t believe how _good_ this _man_ was. Either Julian Bashir was especially naive, forgiving a warmonger without reading his list of heinous crimes, or... he knew far more than he gave away. He didn’t know the truth but he could infer a similar truth from the lies. And either... Either he was just _that_ good of a doctor, genuinely detaching from a patient’s past in order to do his job... or otherwise, he cared.” Garak’s hand turned, and he split his fingers between Julian’s, only as far as his fingertips before stopping, holding. “He cared enough for me in that moment, that he ceased to care about what had come before.”

Julian shut his eyes, stroking his thumb against Garak’s hand, only to regret it when Garak pulled away entirely.

Garak swallowed. “He cared so much,” he said quietly, head turned towards the starlit window, where a million stars twinkled in the endless blackness. “So much that I almost felt bad for lying to him.”

A smile wrung itself across Julian’s face. “Oh, bull,” he said. “You never feel bad for lying. You lie easier than breathing.”

“Ah, that’s why I said ‘almost’,” Garak uttered with a smile.

Julian smiled too.

He waited for another sentence, another word, another breath – but he peered down and saw Garak had actually, genuinely fallen asleep. His lips had gone slack and his head lolled towards the window, hand open on the bed.

Julian wore a fond smile, watching Garak sleep for a while.

The space station turned, and the stars pulled past the window so slowly Julian only realised how much time had passed when he looked out and saw a whole different nebula out there.

He’d realised in these quiet moments that Garak had finished talking before he fell asleep; he’d said what he needed to say. The second secret was out.

Despite how good he was at it, Elim Garak did not _enjoy_ lying. At least not to Julian Bashir.

Mulling over that realisation lasted much of the night, but even the most awesome of thoughts could make Julian weary, and eventually, only partially against his will, he slumped down and succumbed to a thick, heady doze.

For a while he blinked at the silhouette of Garak beside him, so warm and so quiet. It took all of Julian’s last conscious efforts not to roll into the heat and snuggle, as he wasn’t used to sleeping without a blanket and it seemed like Human nature to snuggle, even when the room was hot and his companion was some kind of reptilian-mammalian hybrid.

Oh, but he smelled nice. And he was good company even when he wasn’t talking.

Morning was on its way, and Julian slept.


	4. Physical Desires Are Greeds to Overcome

For a number of minutes, Julian enjoyed that blurry, seductive moment on the edge of waking, becoming vaguely aware of his surroundings, understanding in the back of his mind that he was alive and breathing, no longer dreaming, but was not conscious enough to think in words or remember to open his eyes.

He nuzzled into the heat in his arms, breathing a familiar scent deeply, feeling his own breath rebound against his cheeks. He swallowed, and sighed. A nice warm touch descended his cheek, and Julian smiled widely, moaning in the back of his throat.

“Good morning, my dear,” said a soft, tender purr beside his forehead. It was a dark, hot voice, a humid breeze across a shimmering, black desert road.

Julian drew a breath to the base of his lungs, stretching his toes and legs, surging his head into the flat, triangular pillow. “Hmmmm,” he droned, nosing towards his companion’s face, lips parted. “Hello,” he murmured, because it seemed polite.

A strong hand stroked down his bicep. “Did you sleep well?”

Julian’s eyelids parted, recognising that male voice—

He sat bolt-upright with a gasp, realising in a flash of morning light that he was in Garak’s quarters, Garak’s bed, half-dressed with Garak beside him in Cardassian pyjamas, with a gaping-wide neckline and loose pants, body angled in a way that made Julian doubly sure they’d been _cuddling_, faces together, arms around each other. Julian’s right arm was even a bit numb; Garak had been lying on it. The arm prickled now, as did the rest of Julian’s skin.

“Ahh-hh— I’m— I’m— I’m—”

“Don’t you remember coming here?” Garak asked slyly, sitting up. “Computer, lights.”

The room whirred as the lights brightened. Garak sat up, his black hair loose beside his ears, the wide neckline of his top slumped carelessly down one shoulder, revealing just how far those neck ridges went – all the way down his arms. He noticed how breathlessly Julian scrambled out of bed and hurried to dress himself... but unless Julian was mistaken – surely not – there was a note of disappointment in Garak’s voice as he asked, “Leaving so soon, doctor?”

“Ah. Yes. Yes. I— I have. Work. People to examine. Surgeries to do. Papers to write.”

“Yes, of course, but—” Garak swung his legs out of bed close to Julian, something eager in his eyes, “you don’t usually get up for another fifteen minutes, surely—”

“How do _you_ know when I get up?”

Garak’s smile was a limited one. “Surely you can stay a few minutes longer.”

“Sorry,” Julian said firmly. He snatched up his medical tricorder and shoved it back into the medical case, taking the case in his hand. He offered a hasty smile then turned to leave.

“Doctor...”

Julian stopped by the doors, looking back. Garak had gotten to his feet, pushing his hair back with both hands, eyes on Julian. “Will you be joining me for lunch later, at the Replimat? I have... more to share with you.”

Julian’s lips parted. Part of him wanted to find an excuse to say no, but his eyes lowered, and he said, softly, “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He left Garak’s quarters, and returned to his own, six hours after he’d planned to. He kept his head down to avoid eye contact with everyone he passed.

✨

“Good afternoon, doctor!” Garak sat down opposite Julian in the Replimat’s blue-and-pink neon lighting, chair tucked close so the table so he didn’t bump the Bajoran sitting right behind him. “You look ravishing today.”

Julian managed a sideways smile, knowing he looked a wreck. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep that did it, but the fact he’d been flustered all morning and had bumped into a few consoles and people in his tangle-minded distraction. There was a Raktajino stain under one arm he was trying to hide with an elbow.

“I don’t suppose you brought a book to share?” Garak asked, tucking into whatever incomprehensible foodstuff he’d ordered. “No? Well then, I suppose we’d best cut to the heart of the matter. My third secret—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Julian uttered with waving hands. “Slow down. I need something to eat.”

He got up and soon returned with I’danian spice pudding and a spoon. He sat heavily, sniffed, and filled his mouth a few times before looking expectantly at Garak. Garak was smiling, which was both comforting and unnerving.

“Anything else you need first?” Garak teased. “A drink? A light jog around the Promenade?”

“I’m... fine, thank you,” Julian said. “But, actually, there _was_ something I wanted to say—”

Someone pushed past their table, jostling Garak _hard_ by the shoulder. Julian looked up in time to see a snide look on the Bajoran’s face as he stepped out of the Replimat. “Go back to where you came from, spoonhead,” the Bajoran uttered, then turned and vanished into the bustle of the Promenade.

Julian blasted out a breath. “Of all the nerve,” he uttered, stomach churning. His heart dropped as he looked at Garak and saw how upset he seemed, soft-eyed and haggard-looking.

“Do you want me to call security?” Julian asked quietly, leaning closer, prickling all over; people were looking at them now.

“Oh, no,” Garak said lightly, almost cheerfully, looking as normal as ever now. “That won’t be necessary. I’m quite used to it, my dear doctor.”

That soured Julian’s mouth. Storm clouds darkened the edges of his vision. “You shouldn’t have to put up with it.”

“Oh, but I do,” Garak replied, and Julian wasn’t sure if he meant ‘I keep calm and carry on to avoid trouble’ or ‘I experience this more often than I’ll ever care to tell you about’. Either way, his response put sullen chills in Julian’s chest.

“Now, as I was saying,” Garak uttered, as people around them lost interest and went back to their own food.

“No,” Julian said. “Wait. One minute. There’s something I— I wanted to say.”

He swallowed another mouthful of food, then sucked in a small breath, and Garak waited for him to speak. Julian hung his head. “I’m sorry. About this morning. I think I was quite rude when I left.”

“Oh, not at all. Not to worry.”

“No, but—”

“My dear friend, it’s really quite all right,” Garak insisted, with a small lean forward. “In fact I’m glad you bring up the subject, as the experience leads nicely to what I’m about to share.”

“Oh?”

“We were sitting right at this very table, as I recall. Five years ago.”

✨

_”Couldn’t help noticing...” Garak placed his hand on the Cardassian boy’s shoulder, “what a handsome young man you have here.”_

_A moment passed in which Garak realised he might have made an error in judgement, but wasn’t sure what it was. The Bajoran man’s sour expression made sense, but the boy... the boy was stiff under his hand, and in a heartbeat, Garak had his suspicions confirmed: the boy turned to him and took his hand and sank _teeth_ into his flesh. Garak threw his head back and howled in agony, stumbling backwards—_

_His back hit a wall divider, and in another moment, Bashir was at his side, and had wrested the injured hand into his own grip, hands around each wrist... Garak stood in shock, mind blazing with confusion and pain and horror at what had happened..._

_Within another second, Bashir’s hands had moved only to Garak’s injured hand, palm to palm, his skin cool on Garak’s, other hand keeping Garak’s wrist steady. He held on for a second, another second, then another; he was as shocked by this attack as Garak, but even as a doctor he didn’t move to heal..._

_In truth it was only six or seven seconds before he moved to usher Garak to the Infirmary and went off in a rush to inform Commander Sisko of the assault, but for Garak it seemed like an age..._

✨

_“Goodnight, then, I suppose,” Bashir said, with that charming smile Garak still hadn’t quite gotten used to. “Until next week.”_

_The doctor did smile more often these days. Yes, he remained suspicious of Garak’s every move, expecting to discover a tell that would be Garak’s undoing. But Garak could see that paying such close attention had become less of a case study for the handsome doctor and more of a habit, and there was joy in his eyes when he spoke to Garak now. Joy! Imagine that. He was as happy to wish Garak a good night as he was to say hello, and Garak was desperate not to look surprised as Bashir’s hand found its way to the middle of his back, pressing._

_“You don’t mind, do you?” Bashir asked, hand still on Garak’s back._

_“Mind?” Garak wore an easy smile, hiding an uncertain one. “Why would I mind?”_

_“Oh, it’s just, I know you said,” Bashir shrugged. “Our lunches are what you look forward to.” He let his hand slide low, then it fell away, leaving an empty nothingness to pulse on Garak’s spine. “It’s true for me as well. I’ll be back soon enough.”_

_“My dear doctor, if I fell apart every time you had to leave for a mission I’d be nothing but a dessicated husk of a man,” Garak said with an eye roll. “I think I can handle missing one luncheon rendezvous.”_

_Bashir smiled, but didn’t leave to open the door to his quarters. He took a quick breath and asked, tentatively, “You wouldn’t want to have _dinner_, would you? I mean, I should be back around eighteen-hundred hours, seems like a good time...? And we’d have that lunch as scheduled, obviously. But dinner first...?”_

_Garak’s smile widened. “I would be delighted.”_

_“Oh.” Bashir beamed. “Good.” He beamed some more, then reached and touched Garak’s arm, squeezing. “I’ll let you know when I get back, then.”_

_“Goodnight, doctor.”_

_“Goodnight.” Bashir’s hand lingered, then fell away as he went for his doors. He stepped inside, and looked back, smiling..._

✨

Garak stopped speaking, eyes on his tea, lips parted. He seemed to be wrestling with a thought.

Julian had of course seen a pattern emerge from these recollections, but could not yet piece together how they related to a secret. He waited for another tale, hoping a third would confirm a theory that had built from the first two.

“Doctor,” Garak said.

“I’m listening.”

“The night I attacked you—”

“This again!”

“Yes, yes, this again.” Garak stretched a thin smile, then let it fade – but it grew again, more naturally, eyes twinkling as he peered into his steaming drink. “We fought. You – overpowered me, forced me down—” Garak frowned a little, swallowing. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me, and I thought— How? How could this docile fawn even _consider_ that he could hurt a wolf like me? Yet I felt strength in you I knew wasn’t possible for a Human of your shape and size. Cardassians are by default stronger than Humans. I was in the throes of a monumental rage – so if anything, my strength was doubled. And yet _you_—!”

Julian kept his eyes on his pudding, restraining the flash of angry guilt he felt whenever he was reminded about what he was, what his parents had shaped him into, how he had strength and agility and stamina far above what was bestowed upon him at birth.

“I knew it from that moment,” Garak said quietly. “I realised your secret. I couldn’t be sure at the time, of course, but I did suspect.”

Julian let his shoulders slump. He put on a tiny smile, ever so slightly relieved. He’d lived alone with his secret forever, quietly hoping Garak didn’t know, but now – finding out he knew years before everyone else did, but said nothing to anyone... Julian was relieved. Garak really did have the potential to be trustworthy, despite what anyone else thought.

“I felt you,” Garak said again, softly, too quietly for anyone but Julian to hear. His low voice seemed to fade between the rumbles of other voices around. “_Every_ part of you.”

Julian began to blush. He drew in a small breath, spoon ceasing its search through the layers of his pudding.

✨

_Garak woke to the touch of sunlight on his skin, and for a comforting beat of his heart, he thought he was home on Cardassia, under the baking sun, naught but a child roused from a nap in the fields. He turned into the light, eyes opening..._

_But here he was again, under the soulless shine of fake sunlight, watching Cardassia through an oval porthole to outer space. Home seemed so far away. The heat was all but an illusion, a dream..._

_But wait..._

_Garak turned in bed, and found the true source of the glow. Dear Dr. Bashir, asleep in the same bed. He slept soundly, his brown skin caressed by what could’ve been dawn light, golden on slim cheeks, amber on the shine of tousled black hair._

_Garak rolled completely against him, wrapping his companion in both arms, forehead to his chest, eyes shut, breathing deeply and tasting the jagged, harmonious scent of Terran musk. Oh, the goodness contained within Julian Bashir was unbearable, withering lesser men in his presence. He was the rarest of treasures and Garak could not have been more unworthy to hold him._

_Yet hold him he did, and Bashir stirred from slumber just to smile. Unconsciously, Garak’s presence was welcomed; Bashir showed it with his inclination to draw closer, to part his lips, to moan, to slip a a thigh between Garak’s._

_He was fragile like this, Garak realised. A breakable prey animal resting in the maw of a wicked foe. But Garak could not bite. He could never bite Julian._

_(Because all he wanted was to kiss him...)_

✨

Garak took a shuddering breath, head to the side, lips parted. “Perhaps,” he said, “this might be too inappropriate for the Replimat. Another topic, then. I read yet another of these ridiculous books about ‘wizardry’ you keep insisting I sully my brain with. I must say I’m quite impressed; after all you’ve said about how you Humans protect your young from danger at any cost, the examples in these novels has given me quite the change in—”

“Garak,” Julian said sharply.

Their eyes met.

Julian put down his spoon. “Why are you telling me this?”

“We meet to discuss books, doctor, I simply th—”

“You know what I mean,” Julian said. “You were describing me. From this morning.”

“And so what if I was?”

Julian gave Garak a long, uncertain look.

Garak sniffed, leaning back. “I’m merely reminding you that you have all the pieces, my dear doctor. You are no doubt the cleverest man on this station; I daresay it shouldn’t take you too long to puzzle it all out.”

So Julian was supposed to _guess_ what the big secret was, was he?

Garak’s voice had trailed off in embarrassment after he’d talked about not _biting_ Julian, and while it was obvious there was more to be said, Julian got the feeling Garak would never actually say it.

But it _was_ clear to see. Julian didn’t need to guess; he already knew.

Third secret: Elim Garak wanted to _touch_ Julian Bashir.

“Before I forget,” Garak said, tugging a data rod from a pocket, handing it to Julian. “Something you’ll despise reading. Hmm, just to make us even.”

Julian reached for the data rod – and was stung by electricity as their skin connected; their eyes met, Julian on fire with the new awareness that Garak was enjoying this, enjoying when they touched. He’d made a point of saying so, hadn’t he? Garak was purposefully keeping hold so Julian lingered in contact.

The world hummed and flickered around them as they held on. Julian felt like he was falling.

Garak’s smile was softer than it had ever been. The poor fellow seemed undone by his contentment.

Garak suddenly let go and got to his feet, slinking around behind Julian’s chair. Two firm hands took him by the shoulders, an echo of the first time they met, a touch repeated a hundred times since. Julian’s entire body flushed with sensation – but as if that wasn’t enough, one warm hand dragged up, fingertips against the side of Julian’s neck, trailing behind his ear and into his hair. Julian drew an involuntary breath, a tiny whimper flowing out between parted lips. He turned, breathless, wanting to ask why – but Garak was gone, his square figure fading into a bustling crowd, forest-green tunic lost among blues and yellows.

Julian turned back to his table, and the data rod, and his unfinished I’danian spice pudding.

He looked at his hand, and felt it buzzing.


	5. A Skilled Liar Is a Master of Reinvention

Julian, still off-kilter after the revelations of the day, got himself through the afternoon and evening, then headed to Quark’s the moment his shift ended.

“Had a tough one, eh?” O’Brien asked, eyes lighting on Julian’s dishevelled form. “You look like you had a run-in with a herd of Cardassian voles.”

“I’m ashamed to say all run-ins were limited to Klingon coffee, tables, and a door. And a Bolian. And a nurse. And Garak, I suppose.”

“Day-drinking?” O’Brien frowned. “Unlike you.”

“Late night,” Julian answered, taking the set of darts O’Brien handed him, heading together into their shady private corner.

“Something happen?”

Julian opened his mouth, considering telling his playmate all he’d discovered about Garak, and tossing out a few theories, but decided against it. Garak was a private fellow, and if a Cardassian spy could keep Julian’s closest secrets to himself for however many years, Julian felt obliged to do him the same courtesy. “Not exactly. Kanar just never quite agrees with me.”

“Kanar? Ugh. Strong stuff.” O’Brien threw his first set of darts, collected them, then pushed Julian by his shoulder so he was further away from the board.

“Oh, come _on_,” Julian complained.

“No. Here,” O’Brien insisted, putting Julian up near the steps. “Even sleep-deprived and halfway hungover, you’re sharper than I’ll ever be.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Julian uttered, before humming in surprise as he hit two bullseyes and an almost-bullseye. “Ahh. Okay, maybe you’re right.”

“Told you.” O’Brien clapped him on the back, then went to get the darts.

For ten minutes, Julian stood yawning or daydreaming, surprised whenever O’Brien told him it was his turn again.

O’Brien gave him a concerned look. “You really are distracted.”

“Hmm... Oh, I was just thinking.” Julian looked at the darts in his hand, then just at his hand. “Quark’s madly in love with a Cardassian woman, isn’t he?”

“Quark? Yeah, I heard that rumour. Nat-somethin’.”

“Natima,” Julian said automatically. He leaned to peer past the dividers behind him and out at the bar, where the Ferengi bartender spoke to Morn and poured out another drink. “Ah...” Julian handed O’Brien the darts. “Excuse me a minute, Chief, I need to ask him a few questions.”

He jogged out of their dart corner and over to the bar, away from the fading splutters of Miles O’Brien.

Julian sat down at the bar, raising a finger and calling for a synthale.

Quark gave him a grin as he set down the glass and turned the handle towards Julian. “Fun night last night, doctor?” he asked cheerfully. “Boy, by the state of you, Garak really did a number on you. No offence, but it’s a good look! You should spent the night with him more often.”

Julian was startled, but settled down when he supposed Quark was just as good a snoop as Garak, if less subtle. “I’ll thank you _not_ to pry into my private business, if you’d be so kind, Quark.”

“Hey, who said it was private? You two couldn’t get out of here fast enough. If you wanted privacy you should’ve stayed in the holosuite.”

Julian swilled his synthale, recalling that he’d had the same thought. “Still.” He sipped. “Rude.”

Quark’s grin became an interested smile as O’Brien came up and ordered “Whatever he ordered,” thumbing at Julian.

Quark served him, and the moment the synthale reached the Chief’s hands, Julian said, “Quark, you and Natima—”

Quark dropped a glass, but it didn’t break. “What about Natima.” He’d gone still and silent, the dark hollows of his eyesockets set on Julian, pricks of light in the whites of his eyes.

Julian licked his lips, feeling O’Brien’s eyes on him too. “How— This may be an odd question, but how did she...? Um... Flirt, I suppose. Show her affection. That sort of thing.”

O’Brien scoffed. “_I_ could’ve told you that, Julian,” he drawled, hunched over his ale. “With the Cardies it’s all about arguments, and aggression. The more you dominate the more turned-on they are. Puh.”

Julian looked to Quark for confirmation, and by that sneaky, self-satisfied smirk the Ferengi wore, the fact was established. “Oh, the arguments we had...” Quark said airily, blindly reaching for a cloth to polish the glass he’d chipped.

Julian looked down into his drink, then at his hand. He felt his skin tingle where Garak had touched him, so sweetly, so gently...

By now Julian’s hope was plummeting, sinking so low inside him that he nudged away his synthale, feeling queasy enough without it. He realised the feeling was disappointment. He _wanted_ Garak to be flirting, because wouldn’t _that_ be exciting? Or not just exciting... but _lovely_..?

But... The two of them _played_ at domination, and oh, yes, they _argued_, yet it was nothing more contentious than banter; they toyed with each other, relishing the emotional rise they could elicit, thrilled by the passion in the other’s voice and gestures. There was no true aggression. The few times they’d fought had been sources of deep regret for both of them, even if it bothered them for different reasons. Making repairs afterwards always strengthened their bond, it was true, but if fighting to win was a mainstay of Cardassian flirting, then what Julian did with Garak was most certainly not flirting. They fought to lose, sometimes. Garak seemed to enjoy letting Julian get all smug and righteous as much as he appreciated seeing him smoulder red-hot with frustration.

Julian had not been dominated any more than Garak had. They were equals.

_Equals_...

“Look, doctor,” Quark said, apparently noticing Julian’s sullen expression. “If Cardassian aggression isn’t your game, IIII’d recommend you find yourself a Bajoran lover instead. Much softer. Well, Kira’s the exception. But I have plenty of nice, gentle, _tender_ holosuite programs if you—”

With a sigh, Julian abandoned his synthale and padded back to the darts game, with O’Brien trotting confused in his wake, ale in hand.

“What the hell was that all about?” O’Brien asked, setting down his ale and taking up the darts again. “Cardassian flirting? ‘_Bajoran lover_’?”

“It’s nothing,” Julian waved, frowning. “Quark’s... misunderstanding. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” O’Brien’s brown curls bobbed atop his head as he whipped around to stare at Julian. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with you, or not?”

Julian swallowed. “No.” He stood back and threw dart, dart, dart, and looked away before the dartboard flashed and whirred to sing about his triple bullseye.

So distracted was he that Julian’s eyes left the corner entirely, drawn to movement in a nearby shadow.

Garak was there, watching. One lone, grey-faced figure at a private table. He lifted his drink and toasted to Julian’s good health.

Julian stepped past O’Brien, who again spluttered and complained, “Oh, what _now_?” but let him go. Julian floated up the three steps and over to the next perforated divider, where dim red lights and dark shadows draped over Garak’s strong shoulders.

Julian sat beside his friend, watching him closely. “What are you doing here?” he murmured.

“I suspect I don’t have all that much time left,” Garak said, eyes on Julian’s hands, which halfway-reached to Garak’s, but stopped and rested on the table. “I knew you had an appointment with Mr. O’Brien and... ah, my apologies for interrupting, but—”

“Nonono, it’s okay,” Julian said softly, eyes round with concern. “What do you need? Anything, Garak.”

Garak sipped whatever it was he was drinking, eyes following the mug down as he swallowed. “Some time ago... I had a very special conversation with Ms. Jadzia Dax.”

✨

_Garak found Jadzia Dax at the darkest wormhole window, where her silhouette stood tall, hands clasped behind her back, looking out at the light of the universe. Garak joined her, and they watched in silence. The stars seemed infinite, as they always did, until that majestic moment when the wormhole burst open in a blue, swirling cloud, and there was something solid there, seemingly tangible, even if its very existence made the universe just the slightest bit _more_ infinite._

_The wormhole closed, and Jadzia shot Garak a small, curious look, the smallest smirk on her lips. “Do you make wishes?”_

_Garak drew a breath through his nose, straightening. “I suppose there’s little harm in having hope.”_

_“What do you hope for?”_

_Garak gave her a look. “I _hope_ you’ll spare a moment of your time, Lieutenant. There’s been something I’ve been longing to ask you but the right situation never seemed to present itself.”_

_Intrigued, Jadzia inclined her head._

_“Forgive me, it may seem personal.”_

_“I’m listening.”_

_Garak nodded. He cast aside any hesitancy, as Jadzia was an open book and Garak never cared much for preamble, even if half of what he said was exactly that. He began: “You came very close to breaking an essential law of your people; perhaps you actually broke it it behind closed doors, I can only guess. Trill society dictates you emancipate yourself from past spouses once you find a new host, does it not? But... you were willing to sacrifice your future incarnations for a previous wife. You loved, and still love her.”_

_The only indication of shock Jadzia Dax gave was slightly widened eyes._

_Garak didn’t need to ask if he was right. Sometimes the best interrogations included no trickery, no blackmail or torture, no sleight of hand or mind, just simple questions. “I want to know how someone so attached to cultural rules can... detach in such a manner. You are a Trill and you are sworn to live by Trill customs, lest you be cast out. How can you break rules so ingrained in your being?”_

_Jadzia stared at him for a while, lips parting._

_Slowly, she smiled. “Being in love helps,” she said._

_Garak smiled back. “Ah, love.”_

✨

Julian’s heart was pounding. Maybe he was right. Deep down he’d suspected all along. All he could think was that, altogether, Garak’s hodgepodge of recollections sounded like... love confessions.

Love confessions, from a man who admitted nothing directly.

Maybe....

Maybe Garak was telling Julian he loved him, over and over and over in different ways.

But all Julian had was a ‘maybe’.

✨

_Garak went on, quietly urgent, “You’ve reinvented yourself so many times, with each host, yes, but with each passing year of your _life_ you grow and change, and I really must say, I find it most impressive, Lieutenant. If I were to make a wish, I wish to know how one might transform the way you do, how you can leave behind an old persona and be...” he took a breath, and finished, “be someone else.”_

_“This,” Jadzia smiled, “coming from a supposed spy, a man who becomes anyone he needs to be to get the upper hand. Am I wrong?”_

_“I—” Garak looked out at the stars. “I suspect my best bet is to become someone very specific.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Not to impress someone, you understand, but to make it easier for them to... _care_... about me. I seek a... a genuine evolution, not a mask to don and discard at will. I imagine it... must be a slow change, practised over and over. And I would have to want it completely.” He exhaled. “Tell me, Lieutenant, am _I_ wrong?”_

_Garak knew he was revealing far too much, but this _was_ the point, this was what he was trying to do. He wanted to become the gentle, kindhearted person who shared truths and showed his heart the way the other people on this station did. No matter what he did or how he acted, he was hated by others and by himself, so he would hardly lose anything valuable if he were loved... Even by one person._

_Dax smiled. “Honestly, Garak? It seems like you already know what to do. And... who you love.”_

_There passed between them an unspoken understanding: they had one friend in common and it was all about him._

_“If you’re asking permission to chase after Julian,” Jadzia smiled, peering out the porthole, stars of amusement in her eyes, “all I have to say is... ooh, what a bold, strategic move of you, Garak, asking the friend most likely to approve.”_

_And in that, she did as Garak did: said without saying._

_Garak gave her a small bow, holding her eyes. “I hope,” he said, eyes to the sky, then back to the Trill, “your wish comes true.”_

_He backed away, light-hearted and full of renewed determination._

✨

Julian’s mind and body was jittering like his blood had turned to coffee, but his hand wasn’t shaking; he was staring at it and it wasn’t shaking. He felt like he should’ve been shaking. Garak wasn’t flirting the Cardassian way but that was the _point_, wasn’t it? He’d consciously chosen not to. He was being tender for the sake of a tender Human man.

“I have one question,” Julian spoke with a rasp, voice hiding in his throat. “How long ago was this? When did you talk to Dax?”

Garak’s smile was unreadable. “Who said I ever did?”

Julian’s breath rushed out of him. “What—? But—”

His hand was taken by Garak’s, fingers parted and pushed wide by thick fingertips, by ridged knuckles, by the heat of the almost-Human webbing between each digit. Their hands interlocked, inner wrists to the table, palms together. Julian’s heart was beating double-time, lips licked wet, attention straying from Garak’s gaze to his smile to his eyes again. Julian could feel a pulse in Garak’s hot palm.

“A skilled liar is a master of reinvention,” Garak said quietly. “But occasionally reinvention is required, just as equally, to uncover... well, I dare not call anything a truth. But some things... Some... _feelings_... are to be perceived as real. At least, on my part. And the most unbreakable lies are borne from a man who keeps nothing concealed, at peace with every part of himself. As your people once said, I must ‘live _my_ truth’.”

He bowed his head. “Now,” he said brightly. He stood up, still holding Julian’s hand. “I must retire, I grow most weary. Death comes for me soon, my dear doctor, so I hope you can understand my sudden departure.”

Julian’s breath caught. “No,” he begged, shaking his head, grasping Garak’s hand with both of his. “I _don’t_ understand, and I don’t _accept_ this, Garak! I can barely even believe what you say, and it’s your own fault. What’s a lie and what isn’t? You can’t _be_ dying—”

“Oh, but I am.” Garak stood before Julian and bowed low to him, raising hands to his lips and placing a kiss upon the back of Julian’s right knuckles. “More swiftly than I ever imagined.”

Tears flooded Julian’s waterline and Garak’s peaceful blue gaze wobbled in his vision. “You can’t leave.” He meant now, and in general. “You can’t.”

Garak lowered Julian’s hands back to the table and let them go. “You needn’t worry about me, doctor. You won’t be alone.”

He turned and left, and it took all of Julian’s strength not to hurl himself after his friend and reason with him or punch him or kiss him. But he didn’t move, because only a second passed before O’Brien sat down, holding his synthale and looking at Julian.

Julian wasn’t alone, Garak was right. O’Brien said nothing, just watched Julian fight back tears, wiping them away with his sleeves.

Julian sniffed, pulling himself together. Garak was out of sight.

O’Brien shoved his ale over, and Julian drank it.

“Whatever that bastard did to you,” O’Brien said, “he’s gonna get what’s coming to him, I promise you that.”

Julian choked on a laugh, blinking away the last of his tears. “Oh, no,” he said, handing back the ale. “No, he’s been...” A shaky, wet breath went in and out of Julian without his permission. “He’s been sweet. And maddeningly mysterious. But sweet.”

O’Brien’s eyebrows rose. “Did I – see it wrong? Or did he kiss your hand?”

Julian’s smile was wobbly and wonky. “He did.”

O’Brien let out a puff of air, staring at nothing as he sipped his drink. “Bloody Cardies. Kissing hands, making my friends cry. So bloody complicated.”

Julian chuckled.

O’Brien sighed. “Look, there’s... There’s clearly something... volatile, going on. Y’know. Between you and Garak.”

Julian said nothing, head down. Was there, wasn’t there? He hardly knew. But he smiled, liking the idea that people thought they were a couple. Perhaps they were, perhaps they had been for a long time, and he was the last to figure it out.

“If you ever need to talk,” O’Brien offered, “Keiko and I, and the rest of us – _all_ of us – Julian, we’re here for you.”


	6. Never Tell the Same Lie Twice

Julian stormed into Garak’s clothiers first thing the next morning, armed with a medical tricorder, a tissue sample kit, and a phaser set on stun. He’d had the computer run continuous scans overnight with alarms set to wake him if anything happened to Garak, and he’d told Odo everything he knew about the situation (which was almost nothing without the emotional aspect; Odo didn’t need all that), but Garak had blessedly survived the night, so Julian was fired up and ready for some good old fashioned lab work.

“I’m not leaving until I have some solid proof that either you’re dying or you’re not,” Julian announced, in lieu of a greeting.

“And a fine morning to you too, my dear doctor,” Garak said, a swathe of shimmery cloth draped from his fingers as he arranged it on his cutting table. “I trust you had a pleasant evening with Mr. O’Brien.”

“No, I bloody well didn’t,” Julian said. “And if you think I’m just going to flounce around the station with the thought in my head that you’re in _danger_, and I can’t _do_ anything about it, then you must not know me very well at all. Arm!” He held out a hand, expecting an arm.

When Garak started to reply but didn’t move, Julian snatched his hand and gripped it, pressing his extractor to his wrist and taking a tissue sample, then another, then another. Garak grunted each time. “My-my, aren’t we brutal today.”

“I’m taking a blood sample now, hold still.”

“Ouch,” Garak said flatly.

“Cross anyone lately?” Julian asked. “An interstellar spy ring? Central Command? The Obsidian Order?”

“Such questions!”

“Answer them or I’ll stick this phaser somewhere you won’t enjoy retrieving it.”

“Matter of perspective, doctor,” Garak said smoothly. When Julian just glared, Garak sighed and rolled his eyes, uttering, “No – ouch – I have not caused any major or minor disruption among deadly – _ouch!_ – forces. At least not recently.”

“Stolen anything?”

“Nothing anyone would miss.”

“Broken anything?”

“Only someone’s heart, doctor.”

That comment gave Julian pause. He held Garak’s eyes for a number of seconds, two breaths, questions without complete answers drifting in the space between them. Then Garak looked away, and added, “Although I must note with considerable intrigue that my own heart does seem to be on the mend.”

Julian finally let go of Garak’s well-pricked arm, and packed away six test tubes and blood samples into his temperature-controlled case. He gulped.

“Doctor,” Garak said kindly, one hand on Julian’s, holding the back of it. “As thrilling as this all is, being attacked from all angles by your skilled hands, I can save you a lot of time and trouble by telling you now: my ailment is far from medical. I’m dying of something quite different now.”

“Now— _Now_? You mean ‘a different problem than before’, now?”

“Rather, yes.”

Julian seethed, and squared his shoulders, his nose inches from the tailor’s. “You really are the most frustrating person I’ve ever known.”

Too cheerfully, Garak said, “You once told me an old Earth allegory you called ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’. The moral, of course, was to never tell the same lie twice, and I’m happy to inform you I have taken it fully to heart.”

“Oh, you have, have you? Even if it makes it obvious you were lying the first time? ‘Dying’, indeed.”

“You already know I’m lying. Which, incidentally, brings me to my next secret—”

“Oh no you don’t.” Julian stepped into Garak’s personal space, an angry finger thrust at his throat. “No more secrets. No more lies. Either you tell me what’s really going on or—”

“Doctor, doctor, please,” Garak soothed, hand taking Julian’s pointing finger, lowering it gently, holding on. “I swore to you when we began the Shri-tal process I wouldn’t lie, and I haven’t.”

“But last night I asked about Dax and you made it sound like you made up the whole conversation!”

“Ah, but I didn’t. I asked a question and you inferred a lie.”

Julian could’ve torn hair out, either his own, or Garak’s. Instead he grasped Garak by either cheek and snarled at him, showing his teeth. “Garak. Don’t you _dare_ – _mess_ with me – like that.”

Garak’s eyes settled on Julian’s lips, and oh, how his smile grew. “You’re really not giving me much incentive, are you, doctor, when this is your reaction to my teasing.”

Julian snorted and backed up, curling now-empty hands by his sides, still feeling the dents of hard facial ridges in his palms.

Garak seemed unflapped by it all. He pawed back his loosened hair, and leapt straight into a familiar recollection.

✨

_Bashir watched Garak tear about his quarters, livid and wild-eyed with the pain that overtook without his implant. “And so they exiled you,” Bashir supposed._

_“That's right!” Garak spat. “And left me to live out my days,” he crept closer to Bashir, sneering, “with nothing to look forward to... but having lunch with _you_.”_

_The hurt on Bashir’s face was enough to chill the acid in Garak’s stomach. “I'm sorry you feel that way,” Bashir said, softly. “I thought you enjoyed my company.”_

_Garak wanted to tear him to pieces. Hurt him. He hated how much he cared, how this frail, beautiful alien creature could bring him so much joy and ruin him day by day, destroying everything Garak held dear. Every unbreakable rule was broken for him, every ferocious want was quelled by a quiet longing that felt _comfortable_, and _pleasant_, and unbearably _disgusting_._

_“Oh, I did!” Garak cried, furious. “And that's the worst part. I can't believe that I actually _enjoyed_ eating mediocre food and staring into your smug! sanctimonious! face!”_

✨

Julian laughed. Actually laughed. “Back there again, and again. You’re obsessed, Garak, you know that?”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Garak said lightly, going back to his fabrics and his scissors. “I think you and I can agree: those ten days changed everything between us, irrevocably. I’d never been so honest with anyone.”

Julian leaned against the cutting table, toying with a loose thread. “Hmm.” He drew a thoughtful breath. “Won’t tell the same lie twice...?” His eyes flicked to Garak. “You’ve told me a hundred times that you enjoy our time together. Do you mean to posit that _that_ was a lie? You don’t enjoy it at all?”

Garak glanced at him. “You’re smiling, doctor.”

“Well, of course I’m smiling! I don’t believe a bloody word of it, do I? It’s a lie. It’s all lies.”

“My dear, _dear_, friend, you have this uncanny knack of proving my point while attempting to dismiss it entirely.” Garak began to snip cloth. “If I said I _don’t_ enjoy your company, you wouldn’t believe me, would you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then you know the truth.”

Julian frowned in perplexion. He stood straight, about to pry deeper, but what came out of his mouth was a grunt of annoyance and a plea, “Garak, for God’s sake, tell me what’s _wrong_! Forget the secrets, the Shri-tal! I can do without your mind games. Just— Look at me!” He wrested the scissors away, tossed them down, then gripped Garak by both arms, gazing into his interested eyes. “Let me help you. _Why_ – do you think – you’re _dying_?”

Garak sighed, disappointed at Julian. “Aren’t we all dying? Isn’t life just a string of heartbeats, one after another as we march steadily on towards the grave?”

“Save the philosophy, Garak. All these things you’re telling me, do you expect that they’ll encourage me _not_ to save you? If anything, I... I want you to survive longer, Elim.” His voice had gone soft, and so had his grip. “I’m not going to let you give up and die.”

Garak’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Why, Julian, whoever said I _intended_ to die?”

Julian caught it that time: a question asked, with an answer he was meant to fill in himself and get the wrong idea. But he knew the real answer, and the answer, to his surprise, was a whisper of, “Me.”

Whatever Garak had said about dying, Julian had just been interpreting it all wrong.

But there was no time to fight about it, because Garak sang, “Ahh, good morning! How may I be of service?” and Julian turned to see he had a customer. Their contact ended, and Julian missed the heat under his hands once Garak had moved away.

Julian rubbed his mouth with his palm, then turned to his case of samples. A wild goose chase in space it may have been, but Julian would be damned if he didn’t run every goddamn test on file against these samples, just to make sure he wasn’t missing anything.

He stepped from the stifling heat of Garak’s clothiers and into the contrasting chill of the Promenade, mind stumbling over a mix of thought and emotion. He eased to a halt outside a Bajoran jewellers’, watching his baffled, doe-eyed expression in the dark window melt away to yearning.

The reason Garak was so agitating... it wasn’t the endless lies, as odd as it was to think about. It was the fact that he was right, and was basically always right, once Julian saw through the misdirection and understood the truth behind all the twisted words. Garak called Julian the smartest man on the station but, as Julian saw it, Garak _was_ his equal. He was a puzzle to solve, one Julian might well still be solving decades into his old age. Garak evolved and the puzzle evolved with him.

And that wasn’t _agitating_. That was... electrifying! Julian loved the thought that they could wind each other up and keep each other guessing forever.

But, deep inside Julian’s buzzing, jumping cortexes, one thing that finally clicked: today’s secret revealed...

_You wouldn’t believe me, would you?_

_Not in the least._

_Then you know the truth._

Julian _could_ tell Garak’s truths from his lies. If Julian didn’t believe it, that meant it was a lie. If he believed it, it was the truth.

Julian thought Garak was in love with him.

And so it was their truth.

Elim Garak was in love with Julian Bashir.

Julian almost dropped the case of samples. His heart did something medically unlikely but not impossible: it skipped a beat. Two, in fact. He breathed unsteadily for a bit, slumped with his shoulder against the jewellers’ window. He gazed unseeing at the bright and colourful crowds of the Promenade, dazed and dizzy. His ran his hand up through his hair, a fluttery smile rushing over his lips again and again.

“Love,” Julian breathed. He grinned. “_Love?!_”

He laughed. He rocked back to his feet, and laughed again, then scampered gleefully towards the Infirmary.


	7. Duty to the State Is Everything

“Julian, if you strut around any faster you’re going to tear a _hole_ in our floor,” Miles uttered, fingers pinched over his eyes. He was soothed by Keiko’s hand patting his thigh, but she couldn’t quite look at Julian either, he was making them dizzy with his pacing.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry!” Julian threw himself down on the couch next to Keiko, hands up. “It’s just!” He got to his feet again and returned to pacing, wrenching off his Starfleet jacket and tossing it onto the chair. “Odo’s meant to be getting back to me. Any minute now. Computer, time!”

“_Time is twenty-two, zero eight hours._”

Julian whimpered and stopped pacing just to grasp his face, clawing back his hair.

“Calm down, alright?” Miles urged. “Whatever this is about, panicking about it’s not going to do any good, is it?”

“Passes the time,” Julian said lightly, flopping into the armchair opposite the couple. “Hmnnngg.”

Julian’s combadge chirped inside the discarded jacket. “_Odo to Bashir._”

Julian got up, fumbled for the badge he’d been sitting on, then grabbed it and stood tall. “Bashir here!”

“_Ahh, I’ve taken a look at all communique in and out of the station, to and from Garak in the last few months... Today’s docking ships have been scanned, the appropriate cargo and personnel checks have been undertaken. His security detail found nothing out of the ordinary, although Garak did catch them and lodge a complaint that they weren’t _stealthy_ enough—_”

“Yes, and?!” Julian waggled his hands in hurry-up motions.

“_Nothing suspicious,_” Odo said. “_Well, any more suspicious than Garak usually is. I’d venture with some confidence that nobody is trying to kill him at the present moment. But knowing him I wouldn’t ‘bet the farm’, as you Humans say._”

Miles chuckled.

Julian groaned, sat, and folded forward, face in his hands. “Thanks, Odo,” he mumbled.

He was about to nudge the badge again, when Odo added, “_Although... we did find an oddly-encoded message in his inbox, Rom’s been unscrambling it and it seems to be a message from the Cardassian Central Command, inviting Garak back to Cardassia._”

Julain sat bolt-upright. “You couldn’t have _led_ with that?!”

“_Doctor, when I said ‘it appears to be’ I did mean that. Rom’s still working on the sixth layer of encoding. So far the same message has looked like a shopping list, a schematic for a Klingon airlock, a receipt for five hundred self-sealing stem-bolts, and four novels’ worth of digital gibberish._”

Julian was stumped. “So it might not actually be a message from Cardassia.”

“_For all I know it’s Garak’s secret diary, doctor. I can’t imagine many other reasons he’d bury it like this. I’d wager he knows we’re going through his files and is trying very hard to keep us out of this one._”

Julian flushed with shame, knowing he was violating Garak’s privacy. “Just tell me if you find anything important.”

“_Will do. Odo out._”

Julian sighed, chin in his hands, giving Keiko and Miles a glum look.

“So,” Miles said tentatively. “Someone’s out to get Garak, are they? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Miles,” Keiko chided, holding Miles’ arm. She looked at Julian like she understood his distress.

“Not maybe,” Julian murmured, sitting up, hands open. “He’s madly in love with me. And he’s dying, _apparently_. But you heard Odo, there’s nobody on the station or nearby with designs on his life, and he’s not about to kill himself, is he, he’s faaar too self-serving, and I’ve spent all of today running every biological test I know and _then some_. But he’s not dying. Not even a little bit!”

“Wai-wai-wait,” Miles held up a finger, eyes half-closed. “‘In love’ with you. In _love_ with you?”

“That is what he said, Miles,” Keiko said softly, with a strained smile.

“But.” Miles gaped. “But you’re— You’re so different. He’s— He’s a Cardassian! You don’t— He’s all murder-y and yamok-sauce-and-kanar-y and he’s a bloody _spy_, Julian – and a _man_, for that matter, and—”

“Hey, I _like_ men!” Julian argued.

“Wh— Do y— Since _wh_— Oh.” Miles processed. He blinked rapidly. “Um. Butbutbut okay but that’s besides the point, how would that even _work_, I mean. I mean, you’re not the same. You’re not even remotely the same. Your cultures are utterly incompatible, anyhow, how would—”

Julian stared, starting to squint. “Chief, your wife is Japanese. And you’re _Irish_.”

A pause. “..._And?_”

Julian shot Keiko a helpless stare, and she grinned back, turning a fond, disparaging look on her husband. She patted his hand a few times.

Miles looked between her and Julian, then exclaimed, “At least we’re the same species, dammit!”

Keiko tilted her head. “Have you told Worf and Dax you feel that way?”

Miles puffed and panted. “Wh— I wasn’t— That’s not what I— That’s _different_—”

“Admit it, honey, it’s just Garak you don’t like.”

“Yes?! And is that so wrong of me?”

Julian just sank back in his chair, a faint, comfortable smile growing on his face. “Truth is, Miles, I don’t know, really,” he uttered, rolling a shoulder, then taking his own elbow with a hand, rubbing soothingly. “I have no idea how it would work. But... it’s worked so far. It’s been, what, five and a half years? And we haven’t killed each other yet.”

The smile slipped from his face as he remembered Odo’s words about the message Garak received. “What if Garak _was_ invited back to Cardassia? What if—” Julian sat upright. “What if he thinks he’s going back there – expecting to die?”

Leaping to his feet, Julian began to pace again, hand over his mouth. “Nononono, I can’t let this happen. If he goes he’s not coming back. That’s all he’s ever wanted, to go back to Cardassia! Does he think he’ll be – what – _executed_? Why would he be _invited_ back just to be killed? Why would he _go_ if that’s the case? Or does he think he’ll go and stay forever and die of old age, and – and – and – what, he’s going through the Shri-tal process now, with me, because he thinks he’ll never see me again and he’s as good as dead to me if—”

Julian collapsed into the chair, heart racing, body weak. “He’s going home to die.”

Keiko hesitated, then got up, and went to Julian’s side. She dropped into a crouch and took his hand. Julian took a few seconds to look at her, but when he did, he smiled, comforted by her dark, careful eyes and thoughtful smile.

“In a lot of cultures,” Keiko said, rubbing Julian’s hand, “Human or otherwise... the concept of rebirth is ingrained into... into stories, into societies, into rituals and patterns of daily living.”

“Rebirth,” Julian repeated softly.

“It requires a _symbolic_ death, and rebirth anew,” Keiko went on. “The ending of one thing and the start of another.”

Julian’s eyes snapped between each of Keiko’s, waiting for her to say what he thought she was going to say.

“From what I understand,” she said, “Cardassians are big on symbolic gestures and metaphorical actions and words.”

Julian gave a small nod. If he’d learned anything about Cardassian stories, it was that. They rarely said what they meant, but showed it through acts of destruction and creation in the name of the thing they were taught to love most: the Cardassian State.

“Leaving Deep Space Nine and returning to Cardassia would be Garak’s rebirth,” Keiko suggested, with nary a shrug or a questioning tone, as she was confident she was right. “The ending of this life and the return to his past life, to start over.”

Julian squeezed her hand, breath shaking. He didn’t know what to do or think or say. The idea of losing his best friend like that was unspeakably jarring.

“He might need this, Julian,” Keiko said softly, apologetically. “People need to start over, sometimes. I know it hurts but—”

Julian shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t. Not after everything he’s told me.” He shut his eyes tight, shaking his head. “In all these years I’ve never gotten a straight answer out of him. But in the last few days he’s done everything in his power short of _saying_ ‘I love you’ to tell me how he feels. If anything, he wants—”

A bolt of lightning lit Julian up from inside. He snapped his fingers. “Of course!”

Keiko got up, startled as Julian jumped to his feet.

“Keiko, you’re wonderful!” Julian threw his arms around her shoulders. “Chief, you’re a lucky, lucky man.”

Miles grunted, confused but proud.

“Really, thank you.” Julian held Keiko’s shoulders, beaming. “I have to go. I’ll see you later! Miles, don’t forget Sisko’s dinner tomorrow!”

And he fled the room, and sped away through the Habitat Ring, uttering “Excuse me, sorry, must dash, emergency,” to everyone he passed. He was heavy on his feet and heavy in his heart, but came to Garak’s quarters all ajitter, lightheaded and lighthearted and hopeful.

He buzzed the button beside the door, bouncing on his heels.

“_Enter?_”

The doors swished open.

Garak was across the room in his pyjamas, facing the porthole, hands behind his back, face turned back to see Julian at the room’s entrance.

Julian entered, abound with static energy and nervous tension and desperate, aching hope.

“Welcome, my dear doctor,” Garak said, turning away from the sight of shining Cardassia to face Julian. “I didn’t expect you until the morning. To what do I owe this momentous pleasure?”

“There’s this thing,” Julian said, stepping forward, glad he wasn’t wearing his jacket as the room was sweltering, or maybe it was him, maybe he was scalding hot with terror and excitement inside his turquoise undershirt, “in-in-in cultures, everywhere, in history, on Earth and elsewhere. All across the Alpha Quadrant, Gamma Quadrant too, probably. It’s a thing where people die, but they don’t really die, it’s a sort of, sort of, um, symbolic, metaphorical death, you see—”

Garak tutted, turning back to the window. “And to think all this time I’ve been praising you for your eloquence.”

“It-It-It’s, it’s a rebirth, isn’t it, going back. Back to Cardassia. You’re not really dying, you’re – pretend dying. Ending. Starting over.”

Garak peered at Julian. “Constable Odo got through my encryptions, then, I see.”

Julian approached the window slowly, no more than a step per second. His breath was coming fast and hot and his hands were sweating. “You don’t want to go.”

Garak gave him a sharp look. “Back to Cardassia? Whyever _wouldn’t_ I want to go, my dear doctor? To return home is all I’ve ever dreamed of, I’ve never hidden such a fact from you, nor anyone.”

“No,” Julian agreed, coming to Garak’s side, breathless. “And you weren’t lying when you said that. But. Garak. People, even Cardassians, can want more than one thing.”

Garak tipped down his chin, looking bothered. His blue eyes were on the stars but unfocused. Drawing a small breath, he said, “In all the stories I was raised on, doctor, all of Cardassian literature, there’s a running theme that weaves between every word and elevates any tale from one of misery to one of great pride. Things end, doctor. All things end. Oh, yes! The narrative repeats! And the family bloodline continues, but the individual life ends. We sacrifice our own desires for the good of the State, doctor. That is the order of things. Exiled I may be, but I am still a Cardassian. My home is Cardassia. If the State requires that I leave behind what I have here, I must. There is no choice in it. I live by my _duty_ to the State.”

Julian reached to touch Garak’s hand, fingertips to hot skin. “But it’s not _everything_ to you.”

Their eyes met. Garak looked afraid, like he wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t, because that would be another lie.

“It hasn’t been _everything_ to you for a while now,” Julian said softly, slipping his hand properly into Garak’s right palm. Garak’s hands separated behind his back, falling to his side, where Julian held on, stroking with a thumb. “Look, I don’t doubt you’d do near-anything to return to Cardassia, and it’ll always be your home, I _know_ that – but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t look back up here, and wonder.”

They faced each other now, Julian’s right hand sliding to hold Garak’s left. Garak gulped, vulnerable now Julian only had truths to state and no lies left to unravel.

“Perhaps,” Garak said, sadly, “I’ve been at war with myself over this for some time.”

Julian gave him a brave smile. “No winning that war, is there?”

Garak sighed. There was softness in his eyes, a familiar care, which Julian now recognised as love. Friendly, unquestionably – but romantic as well.

With a shiver of breath, Garak split his left hand from Julian’s, and lifted it to stroke Julian’s blushing face with the backs of his knuckles, slowly, _slowly_, leaving Julian an emotional, melting mess, helpless in his touch.

“_Garak_...” Tearful, loving. Julian didn’t realise his voice could even do that.

“My dear,” Garak said, holding Julian’s chin in his fingers, “do you remember...”

✨

_The O’Brien’s quarters were packed with people, a happy hubbub in the cool air; glasses clinking, drinks being poured, laughter, joyous coos as they all gathered around and discussed the new baby._

_Two happy mothers, Garak noted. He was sitting alone in a corner without a drink, unsure if anyone had noticed him sneak in. To him Kira was as much the mother as Keiko was, and Chief O’Brien... he was the father, but Garak’s eyes lingered on Shakaar, seeing how he hung his arm over Kira, every bit as proud as the Chief._

_Julian Bashir, of course, was tipsy with delight, bouncing about between Jadzia Dax and the Captain and the multiple parents, taking drinks from Quark and hugging anyone he bumped into. Miles had named him as the godparent (after Kira, obviously), which had filled him with such glee he was nigh incomprehensible, babbling and chirping and, occasionally, making noises that Garak might describe as a shriek._

_The little baby was lifted from its crib, and the new godfather had his chance to hold the boy, rocking and warbling and weeping with absolute felicity. He had to hand the bundle to the Chief just so he could wipe his tears, laughing softly, before falling against the grinning Jadzia for a sobbing fit._

_Garak smiled, content to see such a beautiful family come together this way. Of course it was nothing compared to the proper way of the Cardassians, where blood dictated loyalty, but there was something undeniably... wonderful... about this. They’d _chosen_ each other as family, and their bonds were unbreakable, and their loyalty had proven itself over and over again to be stronger than anything Garak had experienced for himself with his own people._

_Privately, he wondered what it might be like to have a family who actually loved him._

_In silence, Garak stood, preparing to sneak out as stealthily as he’d snuck in. But the moment he straightened his tunic, he heard, “Garak!”_

_Bashir was waving frantically at him. “Come hold the baby!”_

_Garak’s eyes shot to Shakaar, then Chief O’Brien, then Kira, all of whom had the fire of impending murder in their eyes. “Ah, that’s quite all right, doctor, I was just leaving.”_

_“Oh, no, no, you can’t go!” Bashir hurried across the room and took Garak by the hand, tugging him close and parting the murmuring crowd. “You’re basically the baby’s uncle now!”_

_Garak was as surprised as everyone else. Odo harrumphed._

_“I am?” he asked._

_“I mean, obviously,” Bashir said, happy as sunshine as he pulled Garak up to the crib, where Keiko was stroking the pink blanket-wrapped Human bean. “I’m the godfather and you’re my – well, you’re basically family, so—!” Bashir reached for the baby, but the Chief put a hand in the way._

_“Ahp!” O’Brien said sharply. “You’re the _second_ godfather. And since when was – _he_ – family?”_

_Bashir looked confused. “Since when wasn’t he?”_

_O’Brien and Bashir had a staring contest, and Garak grew more and more uncomfortable, knowing he was going to be refused. But Keiko sighed and elbowed the Chief in the side, making him yelp, “Ow! Keiko! What was that for?”_

_“Miles, you’re being rude. Garak, here. Just be careful – support his head— Aahh, there, you go. Aww. Isn’t that nice.”_

_Garak stood in total shock, holding a tiny Human babe in his arms. The boy slept, but stirred, soft lips smacking, narrow eyes peeking open and shutting again, squirming just a slight. The baby was warm and soft and Garak couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold it, even if three out of its four parents wanted him dead._

_He felt Bashir’s assuring hand on his bicep, rubbing._

_Garak peered up at him, too stunned for words. Bashir’s smile was astounding, shiny-eyed, as amazed as Garak was. He looked like he was about to cry again._

_Admiring the doctor for a moment longer, Garak then returned his gaze to the child, and felt a wave of peace come over him. He doubted he would ever have a child of his own, given all the circumstances, but if this was the closest he ever came, it was close enough._

_He dared not outstay his already-outstayed welcome, so bowed his head to Mrs. O’Brien, and carefully gave back her baby – only for the child to grip his finger at the last moment, holding on._

_“Strong for a little one,” Garak whispered, as other people squealed and laughed around them. “I will need that finger back, child, I suspect the life of a tailor would be much harder without it.”_

_It took a bit of wriggling, and a touch from Bashir, but the baby did let go, and Garak curled his hand, feeling softness inside him he’d never once felt before._

_Garak gave a thankful bow to each of the parents, gratified to see Miles O’Brien looking a lot less angry than before. He seemed relieved, and just the slightest bit more trusting._

_Bashir rubbed Garak’s back, walking with him as Garak made for the exit. “You won’t stay?” Bashir asked._

_“Oh, no, doctor,” Garak said, gazing at his friend with lingering awe. “No, I must be going.” He touched Bashir’s chest, felt a heartbeat. “But thank you. I’m more grateful than words can express for this... experience.” He turned and left, a tiny smile on his lips._

_Maybe he did have a family after all._

✨

“You... are my family,” Garak said, holding both of Julian’s hands clutched in his own, fingers tangled between their hearts. “The people on this station – a network of friends who hate me but _trust_ me and tolerate and protect me, and allow me to work to my strengths... you’ve become family to me. Maybe even more so than Tain ever was.” Garak hung his head, adding, “But especially _you_, my dear doctor.”

He met Julian’s eyes, round and aching with longing. His voice came out heavy and slow, “Tell me you love me, before it’s too late, my dear.” He shut his eyes, frowning a little. “And if you cannot spare me that truth... a lie will most certainly do.”

Julian’s first reaction should have been an explosion of joy, he knew it should’ve been. But between the words of Garak’s plea he heard a more difficult message: the whole tirade of the last few days was not just about romantic love, but about him being recalled to Cardassia.

Elim Garak wanted Julian Bashir to stop him from leaving.

Why? Because he was terrified, _terrified_, that he’d be going home to die, to be trapped there, to be killed. Duty to the State was so important to Garak; he couldn’t ignore his summons even if it meant death – a real death, or symbolic. He needed a genuine reason to stay, something truly worth betraying everything he held dear, and admitting he didn’t trust the State he served. And it _would_ be a betrayal. Each moment he’d spent in love with Bashir had been a betrayal. But... he’d broken every rule he lived by, so what was one more? He wanted to stay.

_Tell me you love me... or tell me a lie._

“Garak.” Julian’s breath shivered as he stroked Garak’s parallel jaw ridges with a thumb. “I won’t lie to you, Garak,” he whispered, eyes on his lips as he inched closer. Their eyes met, and Julian promised, “I don’t need to.”

Garak realised the meaning. Shock and relief passed through his eyes.

Julian smiled, leaning in for a kiss – and with a low cry of relief, Garak sank into his arms, hands scrunching in Julian’s thick hair, pushing _deeply_ against his mouth as Julian parted his lips.

Hot tongue, firm lips, soft, nudging pushes...

Dark world, closed eyes, _falling_—

They breathed steam, heads turning, the tip of Julian’s nose roughened and bumped by the fine scales on Garak’s cheeks... They pressed tight, skins aflame, a strong hand sliding down Julian’s back, making him gasp as it reached his lower back.

Lips smushing, Julian breathed into Garak’s kiss, “You were never going to die, Garak,” he said, both as an assurance that he knew Garak would’ve found any way to escape his fate, and that Julian would never have let him step towards danger.

Garak broke the kiss softly, cradling Julian’s cheeks, stroking his eyelashes with a curious thumb. Julian caught his breath, heart blazing as he looked into the loving gaze of his friend.

“No,” Garak agreed. “You’re quite right. I won’t be dying anytime soon. As of this moment, my dear, _I live again_.”


	8. Truly Living

“Bashir to Garak.” Julian’s combadge was still cool to the touch as he’d only just put it back on, clipped to his tuxedo jacket.

A few seconds passed. “_Ah, hello, doctor,_” came Garak’s response.

Julian grinned, leaving his quarters. “You ready?”

“_I am dressed. Whether or not I’m ready is quite another matter._”

“You’ll be fine,” Julian promised. “I’m on my way now. Meet you there?”

“_That remains the plan._”

Curious, Julian asked, “What are you wearing?”

Garak chuckled. “_Telling you that would rather spoil the surprise, don’t you think?_”

Julian pursed his lips and purred, stepping into the turbolift. “Bet it’s lovely.”

“_That’s not a statement I can bet against, I’m afraid. My outfit is, I must say, spectacular._”

Julian laughed. “See you in a minute. Bashir out.”

✨

Captain Sisko’s quarters were already alive with conversation the moment Julian stepped inside, and his grin stretched wide, heart leaping. “Major!” he cried, striding across to accept the drink she offered him. “Oh, don’t _you_ look special.”

“You like it?” Kira turned in place, long blue half-skirt wafting airily against her pale legs. “Jadzia said it would suit me better, I didn’t believe her.”

“And now you do? After _I_ told you so.”

“After seven people told me so, actually,” Kira smiled, crinkles appearing under her eyes. “You would be the eighth.”

“Ah, let me guess,” Julian said, casting his eyes around the steamy, spice-hot living room, dimly lit and filled with friends. “Dax, for starters. Odo.” He poked his drink in O’Brien’s direction. “He probably grunted, but we both know what _that_ meant.”

Kira laughed, head back. She tipped her head knowingly, and sipped her drink. “Jake was very eloquent about it,” she said fondly, as she and Julian watched the overgrown boy stirring his father’s jambalaya, dancing in place to whatever tune Jadzia Dax was playing on the keyboard.

“So,” Kira batted Julian on the chest. “What’s this you’re wearing?”

“What’s what? Oh— Oh, it’s called a ‘tuxedo’. Antiquated Earth formal wear.”

“Hm.” Kira arched her lips in a shrug. “Not awful.”

Julian grinned. “Yooou flirt.”

Kira snorted into her drink, then touched under her nose with the sides of two fingers. “Hnnk. Don’t make me get my phaser out, doctor.”

Julian widened his eyes comically. “I dread to think where you’re keeping it, Major.”

Appalled, Kira hit him again.

“Ha! There you are, doctor!” Odo exclaimed, seeing Julian from across the room. He handed the gloop he was mixing over to Jadzia, who hit a bad note and immediately stopped playing. “Doctor, there’s something I needed to discuss with you.”

“Oh, me too!” Jake said, jerking away from the flavoured rice. “You remember that, uh, that _girl_ I mentioned? You know, the one who brought a shipment of Tulaberry wine – she _is_ single – aaaand, maybe, doc, if you wanted me to hook you up...”

Julian’s mouth slid open, about to laugh. “Ah, actually, Jake—”

“Mr. Sisko,” Odo said to Jake, in his flat, grumbly way, “no offence, but what I need to discuss is a matter of some urgency.”

Jake lifted his hands and backed off, throwing Julian a wink, which Julian tried to wave away but Odo was already talking—

“Rom broke through that final encryption on Garak’s message,” Odo said, bobbing on his feet, head nodding as he spoke, eyes low, then moving to meet Kira’s, “And we have some further information about Garak’s recall to Cardassia.”

“Oh?” Julian lowered his drink to the table behind him, all of his attention on Odo.

“As it turns out,” Odo said, “the message was—”

The doors chimed, and Jadzia, still stirring her bowl, sang, “Come in!”

Garak entered as elegantly as a prince, wearing a well-cut knee-length tunic of dashing purple, with gold-embroidered hems, including around his white-draped ankles. His hair was perfect, sleek and shimmery behind his head; his step was confident, and he wore a pleasant smile, which grew when he saw Julian, eyes lighting up.

Conversations went on, and the Captain still juggled his spoons, showing off his moves, and steam still filled the space with a wondrous tang, but Julian’s world had become quiet and small, all his attention focused on Garak.

“Ohh,” Julian sighed, feeling his knees weaken. “Oh, doesn’t he look marvellous.”

“What?” Kira’s face pinched on one side. “Uh. I guess? Sure.”

Odo harrumphed.

“Garak!” Julian breathed, floating away from his friends and towards his special friend, hand out to take Garak’s. “My God, Elim, you look _incredible_. Did you make this?”

Garak chuckled. “What do _you_ think, my dear?”

“Oh, I think you outdid yourself,” Julian said, one hand on Garak’s waist, the other still holding his hand. “It’s beautiful. Utterly – magnificent.” He smirked. “And the man under it all is _even_ more so.”

“You flatter me, doctor.”

“That _is_ the point,” Julian teased. He stepped back, lifting Garak’s hand. “Come on, then! Give us a twirl.”

“Pardon me?”

Julian chuckled. “It’s a thing. You do a twirl to show off your clothes.”

“My _dear_ doctor, even if I knew what a ‘twirl’ was I doubt I’d want to ‘do’ one.”

Julian laughed properly. “Don’t be silly. Like this, look. Take my hand and turn.” He took that hand back and raised it high, twisting it over Garak’s head so Garak had to twirl. And twirl he did; the tunic flared by his waist and his hair swished – and at last he fell, dizzy, against Julian’s chest, baffled but starting to smile as Julian grinned at him, holding him tight.

Julian stood straight, resisting giving Garak’s ridge-decorated nose a smooch, because they hadn’t told anyone about _them_ yet, and they were kind of waiting until after dinner, in case anyone wanted to start a fight about it. Worf already looked like Julian had just kissed a targ in front of him.

Finally Julian stepped back, and just in time, too: Captain Sisko raised up a bowl and called, “And dinner! is! ready! Everyone, if you could take your seats! Mr. Garak, hello. Sit where-_ever_ you like.”

“Oh,” Garak said, as Julian pulled him by the hand to sit near the far end of the table with him. “Much obliged, Captain. How very kind.”

“No, no, it’s Benjamin,” Sisko said. “We’re all off-duty.”

Jadzia sat by Benjamin, smiling brightly, pulling Kira to sit beside her – and Kira sat distractedly, eyes on Garak. Worf sat opposite, also staring, a squint putting an extra wrinkle on his dark, well-ridged forehead. Odo took a seat but no plate, taking up a fork to examine it, but his eyes strayed suspiciously to Garak in a matter of seconds. Miles and Benjamin were the only ones unfazed by Garak’s presence.

Jake just looked confused, tucking a napkin into his collar. “Is Garak a senior officer now? Did I miss something?”

Julian chuckled, but Garak was the one to answer, “Wouldn’t _that_ be something,” he said, as Jadzia passed around the potatoes, and Worf tipped the rice to see if it wriggled. “I regret not, but I am here at Julian’s request, as his ‘plus-one’.” He placed his hand over Julian’s, grey over brown. He squeezed, then let go.

Kira looked curiously at Benjamin. “You knew about this?”

“About what?” Benjamin had that playfully innocent look in his eyes, handing Miles a set of serving tongs, handle-first. “Anyone’s welcome to bring a guest, did I never mention that?”

Kira was stumped, but Jadzia passed her the jambalaya and she smiled and forgot to frown.

“Try this,” Julian told Garak, serving him chicken and salad and rice and potatoes. He gasped and snatched up the bowl Jadzia had been mixing. “Oh, you’ll love this, it’s a lot like Sem’hal stew but... more solid.”

Garak accepted all the new Human foods with gracious nods, and took up his fork and knife as Julian turned to filling his own plate.

“I must say,” Garak remarked, after he’d tried one bite of everything, “you are an accomplished chef, Mr. Sisko. Talented in every respect.”

“Glad you think so, Mr. Garak,” Benjamin said. “Bloodwine?”

“Oh, please,” Garak said, offering an empty glass, nodding and moving his fingers in an ‘enough’ motion once Jake had half-filled the vessel.

Julian had tucked into his meal, and it was only as conversation had hopped from appreciative murmurs about the food to a big, energised group rant about Cardassian voles in the turbolift shaft and all the hilarious (but immensely frustrating) problems they caused, Julian looked up and smiled, realising Garak had become part of the group, and was recalling quite animatedly, “Oh, you should have _seen_ the damage they did to my Terran elasti-cottons. I did tell Mr. O’Brien – I know, I know, a humble tailor’s wares are of little consequence when there’s these ghastly beasts blocking the way to the Habitat Ring, and it might not seem like much of a problem now, but in two weeks, when people start ordering new underwear and I have to make them out of crepe fabric, then – _then_ we’ll have a problem.”

A warm, amused laugh rumbled through the group, and even Odo gave a little h’mph, eyes wrinkled.

“Ooh, yes, I’ll take those,” Jadzia urged, reaching for the beans Jake offered. “I adore these. If I weren’t married to Worf I’d – hmh! – oh, I’d marry these.”

Worf scowled. “Those are... beans.”

“Yes, and I love them,” Jadzia said happily, spearing a bean on her fork and kissing it, then eating it with a moan.

Benjamin laughed. “Careful, old man, you’ll make him jealous.”

“Of the beans, or you?” Jadzia purred, casting a sly glance at Benjamin.

Worf sighed. He started to smile. “Jadzia, I think I would like some more of the po-tatoes. I have some kissing I’d also like to practise on... vegetables.”

Julian laughed with his fist in front of his chewing mouth, elbow on the table, bright eyes set on Kira, who shook her head in amusement.

“Speeeaking of kissing,” Jake said, prying the potatoes from Worf before he hoarded them all, “Doctor Bashir— You remember, Tulaberry wine girl—? She’s single – _and_ she asked about you. I thought maybe you’d have a good time... Klingon restaurant, maybe. She’s free Thursday, and I know you get off early that evening, so—”

Julian cleared his throat, forcing himself to swallow. “Actually, um. Jake. Aaah. Here’s the thing.”

Garak was looking at him fondly when Julian glanced his way. Julian gave an assuring smile, then sighed, rolling his eyes and resigning himself to coming out sooner than planned. “Thing is. I’m. Um.” He tapped a fingertip on the table, trying to find the right words. “I’mmm... ummm.”

“What my dear doctor is trying and failing to say, ever so spectacularly,” Garak piped up, sliding his hand over Julian’s, interlocking their fingers, “is that he is quite engaged already.”

“Engaged?” Benjamin said in semi-jubilant, semi-wary surprise. “Doctor! You informed me you and Mr. Garak were an item but didn’t tell me you wer—”

“Not getting married!” Julian said hastily. “Not— Not today, anyway. That’s not— Aa-hhah. Garak means ‘busy’. Engaged like ‘busy’.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you are,” Jadzia uttered with a smirk, forking around in her beloved beans. “Verrrry busy.”

Julian felt his ears catch fire – or at least it felt like it. “Not _that_ busy. Only been together a day – and not even that. It’s _barely_ nineteen-hundred hours.”

“We’re... busy enough,” Garak said, as Julian turned his hand over so they held on palm-to-palm. They gazed at each other, Julian’s heart growing warm and snug in his chest, his smile too easy and too wide. “To be fair, we have been... keeping each other ‘busy’ for many years,” Garak added, head tilting. “No doubt we will keep each other equally as occupied for many years to come, here on the station.”

Odo found that most stirring. “Interesting you would say that, Garak,” he said, his tone halfway between suspicious and affectionate. “As I was about to tell Dr. Bashir just as you entered, we managed to decode that infernal message of yours.”

“Yes, I’m very impressed. I used the finest encryption codes I had at my disposal and you broke through five of them in under a day. If I weren’t so fond of you, Constable, I’d be rather afraid of you.”

“_Rom_ is very good at what he does,” Odo grumbled, which also meant ‘thank you’. Julian smiled.

Odo went on, “Turns out,” he glanced at Kira, who put down her fork to chew and listen, “the final encryption layer was not Cardassian and appeared native to the station’s receivers, which is no doubt why even Mr. Garak’s fine eye didn’t detect it. It was a Bajorian encryption, and once broken, revealed that the message inviting you back to Cardassia was in fact a hoax – a _ruse_ originating from a Bajoran’s quarters, a man living on the station.”

Garak dropped his utensils, staring at the table. Julian’s hand rushed to hold his wrist.

“No doubt trying to get rid of you,” Kira said. “Trick you into going back to Cardassia, where they’d— Well, you’re not so welcome there, are you. Maybe our Bajoran hacker hoped the Cardassian government would do his dirty work for him.”

Garak shut his eyes.

Julian rocked his shoulder against Garak’s. “But you didn’t go, Elim. You’re fine.”

“So I didn’t, and so I am,” Garak said faintly, “but it was a terribly close blow,” which Julian took to mean ‘_How could I have been so stupid?!_’

Well, that was what blind devotion to the State got him, Julian mused. Good for him for breaking free.

“And, I said to him,” Kira went on, apparently having carried on while Julian comforted Garak, “I said,” she laughed, shaking her head, ruffling her short red hair, “Look, I’m not the biggest fan of Garak either, believe me – but first off, you’re sending messages that could get somebody killed, so quit acting like it was a prank. Second, Garak _lives_ here, and he’s not exactly a friend of Cardassia, so he’s as much at home here as the rest of us. Third! I mean – pff – frankly? We’re better off _with_ an alleged Cardassian spy on board than without. He’s gotten us out of more scrapes than _I’ll_ ever care to admit. And... fourth—?” Kira looked warmly at Julian, lingered for a beat, then let her eyes drift to Garak. “Fourth, he makes our doctor bizarrely happy. And—” Kira threw up both hands, head down, “I’m not gonna argue with that. You get Garak killed and you’re gonna have hell to pay. That’s what I told him.”

“Brava,” Jadzia said, to a bean.

“Our meddling Bajoran is presently in a holding cell,” Odo said. “We’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

Julian gave Garak’s hand a heartening rub. “There, you see. Even _Kira_ said something nice about you.”

“Whooooa, who said anything about ‘nice’?” Kira complained. Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll... tolerate you.”

Garak gave her a nod. “And I you, Major. Glad we’re in agreement.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You two! Honestly.”

“Don’t know about you, Julian,” Miles said, stabbing at his food, one cheek bulging, “but sounds like that message might’ve gotten you and Garak... you know, _together_. Don’t know whether I should tell that Bajoran thanks or give him a right kick up the backside.”

The group snorted, even Julian laughed – but Kira asked, “What’s that mean? What did the message do...?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Julian said distractedly, saving Garak any further embarrassment. “But suffice to say, at the end of all this, whether Garak ended up properly dead or just symbolically dead...” Julian beamed at him, “I got the chance to learn a whole lot more about him that I would’ve otherwise. And all of it... every bit of it... it helped him make the choice to stay. Here. With us. And this is home now.”

Julian’s smile shook and went crooked with emotion, and he felt compelled to add, quietly, “Elim... you’re _home_.”

Garak rested a warm hand at the nape of Julian’s neck, stroking. Julian, aflush with pleasure, leaned in, shut his eyes, and let Garak kiss him in view of all of their friends – all of their _family_.

Miles choked. “Right in _front_ of me,” he whispered in despair.

Kira patted his arm soothingly. “We’ll get over it,” she said, smiling through gritted teeth.

Jadzia, however, was applauding and chortling with glee. Benjamin was laughing heartily. Odo harrumphed, then _t’sk_ed, but not in a bad way. Even Jake gave a small laugh, then went back to his food. Worf was silent, so Julian assumed he was staring, and thinking.

Julian was ablaze with contentment when he pulled back. Garak was sparkly-eyed and happier and freer than Julian had ever known him to be.

They held hands over the table, and returned to their food, eating one-handed until it became inconvenient, at which point they just stopped eating to simply hold hands.

Funny, Julian thought, as Benjamin fell deeply into a bold and engaging story about losing artificial gravity on the runabout... Garak hadn’t exactly avoided his ending cycle. He had died and been reborn.

Elim Garak was a new man tonight. And Julian Bashir was, as well.


	9. A Liar and His Beautiful Lies

“Eeeh...” Julian trembled, laughing breathily, head turned as Garak pushed him against the doors to his quarters. “Elim...”

“Shhh,” Garak hushed. He kissed Julian’s neck again, then reached down and opened the doors with his thumbprint. He caught Julian before he fell inside, and they straightened up, grinning.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” Julian asked, beaming as he began to strip, tuxedo jacket onto a chair, bowtie fingered undone.

Garak gave him a long, sly look, locking the doors. “Any chance the answer is ‘both’?”

“Oh, it’s definitely both,” Julian agreed, slinking up to Garak, crotch-first, lips parting as he grinned, sealing a kiss with a nuzzle and a soft moan as Garak sank thick fingers into Julian’s hair, massaging the base of his skull.

“Hmmweshould,” Julian mumbled, “probably,” kiss, kiss, smooch, “put in a request for shared quarters. Hope you don’t mind sharing a bed with Kukalaka.”

“Your... ‘teddy’ bear.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Sharing, doctor,” Garak mused, running both hands up Julian’s lower back as Julian worked to undo his shirt buttons. “Could you really stand the heat for so long?”

“Ohhhw,” Julian’s brow furrowed; he smiled, then grinned, then put a slow, tongue-lick kiss against Garak’s lips. “I _like_ the heat. Love it, really. Adore it. Absolutely revel in it.”

Garak took a deep, content breath, nose against Julian’s jaw, enjoying his scent and the lingering warmth of New Orleans jambalaya, as his hands gripped the smooth skin of Julian’s back, holding their middles close.

“Hhmmmhhh,” Julian purred. “Come on, you,” he urged. “Off.” He made a finger-sweeping motion, inviting Garak to undress.

Garak turned around, and Julian saw there was a tiny zipper on the back of the purple tunic. He kissed the back of Garak’s burning neck a few times, sultry and soft, then slid down the zipper, enjoying the buzz it made. His lips lingered on those neck ridges, sucking, the tip of his tongue just feeling the hardness of them, contrasting to the muscle they rose from.

“Auhh,” Garak moaned, tilting his head. “Doctohhr...”

“Julian,” Julian whispered, sucking one of those blood-flushed scales. “Please.”

Garak chuckled in fluttery breaths. “My dearest Julian.”

Julian grinned against him, and let the zipper reach its end. Fingers parting the tunic, he pushed it open, it fell to the floor, and they each stepped back, spending a few seconds undressing themselves – Julian flinging off his shirt, unbuckling his trousers and hopping to divest his feet of shiny shoes and stretchy socks.

He tumbled onto the bed, waiting for Garak to join him—

But Garak, now in just his embroidered white pants, had wandered to the window, looking out.

Julian sat up, turning his torso to look at his lover. “Do you see it?” he asked.

“Same time every night, give or take a few minutes each season,” Garak answered. “Perhaps it’s only my perception, but it certainly shines brighter than anything else out there.”

Julian got up and padded up to Garak, sliding a hand up his ridged back, smooth over his shoulder bone. “It is beautiful,” he admitted, seeing the white twinkle of Cardassia Prime out there among the black.

Julian watched the sky, then turned his eyes to Garak. With blue eyes and grey skin, he glowed like Earth’s moon in the muted silver light. Julian watched Garak process what he was choosing to give up – not because he’d been forced to, when it came down to it, but because he _wanted_ this, he wanted to be here. He’d begun Shri-tal with the express hope that Julian would return his feelings and make him stay.

Julian hadn’t needed to _make_ him do anything, as it turned out.

“Why the pretense?” Julian asked, hand lingering on Garak’s shoulder. “Elim, you must realise, this whole thing was ridiculous. Why not just tell me, tell Odo, tell Sisko about the message? Why hide it, why tell me you’re dying, why do any of this?”

Garak nearly laughed. He looked at Julian with a flash of contempt, which quickly fell away to a sentimental smile. “Tell me, Julian, when do I ever do anything without an elaborate pretense?”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Okay. You got me there.”

“Besides,” Garak looked out at the stars again, “I am a hard fellow to fool. I intended to keep the message out of sight until I could be certain it wasn’t a trick, until I’d confirmed its contents with my Cardassian contacts. Did you really think I’d go straight back there without being sure what kind of reception would greet me? Please, my dear. I may have been misled for a time, but I was not taken in by anyone else’s lie.”

“Yet you believed it enough that you were planning to leave,” Julian whispered, kissing an exposed shoulder ridge, then resting his nose there.

“I...” Garak looked at him unsurely. “This may sound highly peculiar coming from me, doctor, but there’s the distinct possibility I simply wanted to tell you the truth. I live by many rules, doctor, and... all of them, I’ve broken for you. I wanted to tell you. And any old excuse would do.”

“Oh-ho! You call _dying_ ‘any old excuse’, do you?”

Garak laughed, taking Julian hand-in-hand, holding him softly, placing a tender kiss by his mouth. “A good an excuse as any.”

Julian sighed, eyes shut, bowing his head to rest his nose against Garak’s. It was nice here, he thought. Felt right. Felt like home, a new home, a different home than all the other homes that came before.

“Why me?” Julian whispered, feeling a curious wrinkle between their foreheads, right where Garak’s inverted-teardrop forehead ridge pressed into his skin. “Elim, of all the people, of all the nice things in the entire _universe_ that you might’ve allowed close enough to destroy you, why did you let it be _me_?”

A chuckle bounced out of Garak’s throat. “Again and again, my dear, you ask questions you already know the answers to.”

Julian tutted. “So what was it?”

“What do you believe?”

Julian twisted his head, keeping his forehead to Garak’s as his eyes peered into the dazzling abyss. “You were tired of lying.”

“Tired,” Garak repeated, “or as frustrated by the process as you are.”

“You weren’t dying but you realised our time is still finite,” Julian supposed. “Might as well make the most of it.”

“All things end,” Garak agreed. “But nothing has an ending without a beginning, and we’d barely gotten started. I wouldn’t like to waste decent potential if I can exploit it for all it’s worth.”

Julian smiled. “I don’t think this will end, Elim. You and me.”

“No?”

Julian shook his head. He nudged his hand against Garak’s, and they laced their fingers together. He let out a breath.

“Most of all, Elim...” Julian wondered, then decided, “I think you love that I lied to you for so many years, about my... enhancements, seemingly without effort. I kept it hidden well enough that you could only speculate. I think you _love_ that it slipped by you, an unconfirmed mystery. I think that maddened you. And set fires in you. You do appreciate a good mystery.”

“That I do.”

Julian looked into his eyes. “_And_ I’m pretty.”

“Oh, very,” Garak said.

Julian grinned. “Anything I missed?”

“One thing.” Garak smiled, giving Julian a small kiss. “Granted, it isn’t a secret of yours, but you are so remarkably humble about it. You... care. More than anyone I’ve ever known. You were the first person on this station, the first person in my life, almost, to show me a true, unerring _kind_ness and—” Garak looked down, breath caught. “Well. As aloof as I prefer to be, it was hard not to be drawn to that.”

Julian eased his chin back up, beaming as he gave him another well-deserved kiss.

“But under it all,” Garak said, stroking back Julian’s hair, then holding his cheek in a hot hand, “you’re quite right, my dear. There really _is_ nothing more attractive than a liar and his beautiful lies, wouldn’t you say?”

Julian chuckled, taking Garak by the hand and leading him to their bed. “Oh, no, I vehemently beg to differ,” he said softly, giving Garak kisses with every step and every second word. “I find the heartfelt _truths_ of a liar to be very... attractive... indeed.”

They lay down together, on the edge of laughter, hands against each other. Amidst the shaky whispers and sighs of two renewed souls finding their way home at last, their truths were expressed, not in so many words, never with ‘_I love you_’, but they were known truths nonetheless.

They didn’t need to lie.

Neither of them had anything left to hide.

****

{ the end }

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☆ [**reblog art?**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188755994725/hellooo-space-friends-heres-a-20k-garakbashir)  
☆ [**reblog summary**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188756061930/tell-me-you-love-me-or-tell-me-a-lie)  
☆ [**reblog opening lines**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188756131160/tell-me-you-love-me-or-tell-me-a-lie)
> 
> So, for eight years, [I only wrote Destiel](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=5672&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi). Then three months ago I fell head-first into the [Good Omens fandom, and I wrote so many fics](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=575567&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi) that I'm still posting them. Now I'm paddling around in the DS9 fandom as well and I don't even know how I got here but I'm definitely staying here for the foreseeable future. There's four more completed Garak/Bashir fics in my drafts now, to be posted soon!! I'm gonna be posting either a Garashir, Destiel, and Ineffable Husbands fic EVERY WEEK until the end of the year, and undoubtedly beyond, because now there's more fics than weeks until the end of 2019. If you'd like to join me on this journey, please [subscribe on my AO3 user page](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/)!! And pleasepleaseplease comment below, I'd love to meet some acey spacey friends c:  
Elmie x


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